


A Big Cop in a Small Town

by SeeThemFlying



Series: The Ice Cream Anthology [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: A Model Village, Big Cop in a Small Town, Bonum Commune Communitatis, Brienne's in denial, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everyone and their mum is pining, F/M, Honour, It gets a tiny bit smutty and I run away terrified, Modern AU, Policeman Officers, Rhesus Macaques are evil, SWAN!, Slow Burn, Such a slow burn that the next ice age might come before this thing sets on fire, buddy cop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-05-02 01:37:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 167,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19189285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeThemFlying/pseuds/SeeThemFlying
Summary: When Brienne Tarth, a tough London copper, is forced to move to a sleepy town in Somerset to be their new police sergeant, she is partnered with Jaime Lannister, who is not happy about the whole deal. However, things are not what they seem in Casterly, and Brienne and Jaime end up uncovering a conspiracy bigger than anything they were ever anticipating.A bit of ridiculous, murderous fun to help us all forget about Series 8!References to a certain 2007 buddy cop comedy abound.





	1. With All Due Respect, Sir...

**Author's Note:**

> AHHH! So, this is my first attempt at ever writing a fic. I was motivated to write it because I was so depressed about the end of the TV series, and every canon compliant fic was just reminding me of the depressing truth.
> 
> This is heavily inspired by my favourite film, Hot Fuzz, but does not follow it beat for beat, so I hope it keeps you interested. It's currently not beta'd, so hopefully I haven't made too many mistakes.
> 
> This is meant as a bit of fun! I hope you enjoy!

“What?” said PC Brienne Tarth, blinking ferociously.

Had she lost her mind, or had her boss finally, after several years of desperately waiting on her part, just offered her a position as sergeant?

“Aren’t you listening? We’re making you sergeant,” said Oberyn again, his mouth curling into a smile.

“Really?” she beamed, “Truly? Honestly?”

Ever since she had graduated from the Police Academy, she had slowly been working her way up the Metropolitan Police Service, tackling every possible situation that could come her way to the best of her ability. The Croydon Cat Killer. The Potato Peeler Plot of 2015. Community Policing. She loved being a PC but being sergeant would give her more responsibility and allow her some authority amongst the other officers she sometimes feared she lacked. Not to mention more money.

“Of course.”

“Thank you, sir! I won’t…”

“In Casterly, Somerset.”

Brienne blinked again. He’d said it so quietly she barely heard him.

“What?”

“In Casterly, Somerset.”

Her mental map of the UK was a bit crap. She’d grown up on the Isle of Wight, and her dad had never had the money to take her on holiday to anywhere other than package trips to Alicante. She had rarely ventured beyond the M25 and never further than the Watford Gap.

“I’ve never heard of it. Where is it?”

Oberyn shrugged his shoulders. “Somerset.”

“But…” said Brienne, “I live here. My job is here. Isn’t there a sergeant job in London?”

Oberyn smiled and there was something mocking in it. “Nope.”

“Can I stay on as a PC?”

“Nope.” Oberyn really was smiling now. He was happy about this.

“I don’t want to leave London.”

“Well, you don’t have any choice.”

That statement hit her hard.

“Why not? Why can’t I stay?” Brienne hoped her face would convey enough bruised hurt to make him change his mind, but Oberyn got to his feet and crossed his office, turning the kettle on.

“To be honest, _Bri_ , can I call you _Bri_?”

She wanted to tell him _no fucking way_ , but she thought that was probably not the best way to persuade him to let her stay.

“Sure.”

“Bri… ever since you got the Potato Peeler…”

“The Potato Peeler Plotter…” she corrected him.

“Whatever… the Potato Peeler Plotter… you’ve been making the rest of us look bad.”

“Look bad?” Oberyn got out two cups from the cupboard and popped a tea bag in both.

“You’ve got an arrest rate at forty percent higher than anyone else on the force…”

“Service,” she corrected, “official guidelines state that force sounds too aggressive.”

Oberyn continued, unabashed, “you completed the Targaryen drug smuggling case almost single-handedly.”

“Yes, I did,” she said, proud of her accomplishment. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

He shook his head. “Not when your face gets splashed all over the front of the _Evening Standard_ every other week, making it look like you are the only policewoman in London.”

“Police officer,” she insisted. “I am just the same as anyone else.”

Even as it came out of her mouth, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. He flipped the switch on the kettle off and turned around.

“Well, Casterly needs a new police officer, and you fit the bill perfectly.”

Ever since she had worked here, she had resented Oberyn. He was always more interested in his latest fling than whatever cases they should have been focussed on, but because he had a natural gift for hobnobbing with his superiors, he always found himself on his feet. Brienne was jealous of him for that talent; she had always found it impossible to win people over.

She got to her feet, suddenly angry.

“You can’t just make me go… let’s see what the team think about this!”

* * *

 

The team didn’t give a shit. They were as happy to see her go as Oberyn was. There wasn’t even a goodbye party. As she sadly packed her desk up, she wondered what she had done wrong. Had her pursuit of being a good police officer really cost her the friendship and support of her colleagues?

“I hear they occasionally get some old farmer losing his marbles and going on a gun rampage down in Somerset,” said Obara, a hint of a mockery in her voice, “but that only happens once every ten years. It’s mostly people complaining about their neighbours hedges. There’s none of the excitement we have here in the city.”

Brienne knew she was right, but she didn’t want to give Obara the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

She left the station for the last time with only a couple of half-hearted goodbyes from some of her colleagues and the box containing everything from her desk, taking a slow tube journey back to her flat in Balham. Once, and only once, she had locked the door of the dingy one bedroom flat behind her did she allow herself to cry. Oberyn had given her two weeks to pack up her life. Her tears were mostly for her lost job, but also for the rising sense of fear of how easy it would be in the West Country in two weeks’ time. Her roots were so shallow in London; she had no friends in the city, and her only family was down on the Isle of Wight. The only connection she really had was Hyle.

_God, I’m pathetic…_

Over the next few days she sorted out her affairs; arranged a new tenant, told her bank she was moving, got in contact with the Chief Inspector in Casterly to arrange her new life. She only rang her dad two days before leaving for Casterly.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, Pumpkin. Everything okay?”

She didn’t really know where to start.

“Yes, fine. I’ve been made sergeant.”

She could hear his smile even on the phone. “Congratulations! It’s what you’ve always wanted.” Her silence prompted him to speak again, “isn’t it?”

“It’s in Casterly, Somerset.”

“Where’s that?”

“Somerset,” she said, repeating Oberyn’s response to her.

“Oh, but I thought you wanted to stay in London? All the action is in the city?”

“Yes, I did,” she said sadly, “but I don’t really have much choice.”

He breathed deeply. She could tell he was going to try and give her some fatherly advice. “You always have a choice, love.”

Her heart warmed for the first time in days at that comment. “I know, Dad. It’s a new opportunity in Casterly, it’s…”

“Make the most of it. You could have a fresh start in a new town. Be the best damn sergeant the South West has ever seen. Make some amazing friends. Find the man of your dreams and all that,” he laughed. She could tell he was trying to be reassuring, but she was still not feeling particularly positive.

“I’ll try,” she said.

What she didn’t tell him was that she was a hundred percent sure she was going to die alone. Even if she did meet the man of her dreams in Casterly, there was no damn way that she would be the woman of his.

* * *

 

On her penultimate day in London, there was only one thing left to do before leaving for Casterly: tell Hyle.

Hyle had been her on and off boyfriend for the last three years. They were currently off, but she thought she owed him an explanation nonetheless. Their relationship had always been one built on expediency; he liked sex, she liked not feeling alone. It kept coming to an end when they would finally both remember they didn’t love each other, and it was just the simple transactions that kept them together. As expected, she found him pouring pints at the local boozer, _The Lady Stoneheart_ , chatting up some woman he was serving. Brienne decided to hover at the end of the bar – it would only be a matter of time before he noticed her and came to say hello. It took about fifteen minutes for the woman to eventually return to her friends at one of the rowdier tables and then, and only then, did Hyle sidle over to her.

“Hey Brienne, feeling lonely again?” he said, a wry smile on his lips. She knew he didn’t mean it – it was a poor chat up line above everything else – but still it stung.

“No,” she said, trying to ignore the wave of sadness about to engulf her, “can I have a drink please?”

“Sure. Cranberry Juice?”

“Yes please.” As Hyle began to bustle around preparing her drink, Brienne went over and over in her mind what she was going to say to him.

“So…” he said, placing her drink in front of her, “did you want to talk, or…”

“I am moving away,” she blurted, deciding ripping it off like a plaster was the best option.

She expected him to be wrong-footed at the very least, but her words seemed to bounce off him like water on a duck's back. “Cool. Anywhere exciting?”

“Casterly, Somerset.”

He looked confused. “Where’s that?”

“Somerset,” she said for what felt like the four hundredth time that week, trying not to let the sadness leak out in her tone. _He doesn’t even care…_

Hyle went to fiddling round with some glasses, so Brienne spoke, trying to regain his attention. “Will you miss me?” she asked.

He shrugged, “of course.” He didn’t look at her as he said it. There was obviously something about her expression that betrayed her sadness, because he then seemed to recover himself, smiling at her and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Hey, we had fun while it lasted didn’t we?”

She nodded before saying, “but why didn’t we ever become a _thing_ , Hyle? Why did we never fall in love?”

He dropped his hand as if he had suddenly been burned. “Many reasons,” he said. “I like variety in life, for one. I’ve never been your traditional monogamous type and I’m not made for settling down and becoming some poor bird’s Prince Charming. And as for you, you don’t even want a boyfriend.”

She raised her eyebrows in shock, “I don’t?” This was a genuine revelation to her.

“No,” smiled Hyle, “because you are more in love with your job than you will ever be with any man. And until you find someone who means more to you than being a policewoman, that’s how it will remain.”

“Police officer,” she corrected, almost as a reflex.

“Police officer,” he repeated, sighing, her response validating his answer. He gave her a polite nod and a friendly smile. “If you are ever back in London, it would be nice to see you. I’d like to catch up.”

“Sure,” she smiled, even as her eyes were flooding with tears. “I’ll see you around Hyle.”

“See you.”

And she left the pub, without even finishing her drink.

* * *

 

The next morning, she was up bright and early to get the first train heading west from Paddington. She had left her flat keys with the landlord before she left, armed only with a small suitcase. Inside, were all her clothes and the few sentimental items she possessed; the blanket her mother had knitted when she was born, Galladon’s old teddy bear, the plastic ring Connington had given her. That last one was not so much sentimental, but a reminder. She ordered a coffee and then boarded the train, deciding to sleep until she got to Castle Cary. Consequently, she had her eyes closed as the train left the London terminal.

Her dad's words came back to her. The way he painted it, she could have all the things she never had in London in Casterly - friends, a place in the community, respect, love - and she tried to believe it.

_It’s a new start,_ she said to herself, _and I’ve got to make the most of it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise it gets a bit happier soon. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Next time... Brienne arrives in Casterly, and meets a guy she becomes rapidly convinced is going to be the love of her whole damn life...


	2. When's Your Birthday?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne spends her first night in Casterly, and it's a bit more eventful than she planned...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was pretty overwhelmed by the response to the first chapter of this fic, and I just want to thank everyone so much for their comments and kudos. It seems there is a big crossover area in a Venn Diagram showing Hot Fuzz fans and J/B fans! 
> 
> Once again, this is unbeta'd, so hopefully there are not too many mistakes. I hope you enjoy, and please leave a comment!

Her journey to the South West was a complete and utter disaster.

The train got as far as Reading where, due to a naked man deciding to declare his undying love for his girlfriend on the train tracks, the train was cancelled. They had to wait for the police to come to arrest the lunatic before another service was laid on, and this time Brienne did not have a seat and there was a woman with a crying baby, who seemed to be trying to sing an aria from _La Traviata_.

At Didcot Parkway, they were informed there was a problem with the overhead powerlines, and they had to wait again. The train then managed to limp very slowly Castle Cary where she disembarked, almost six hours late, carrying only her rather light suitcase. Only when she was packing had she realised how little she actually owned. She’d left most of her childhood belongings at her dad’s house on the Isle of Wight when she moved to London, and she only went back there for Christmas. Once in London, she had lived in minimalist extravagance in her little flat, only buying what was strictly necessary. As she had been so focussed on being the best police officer she could possibly be, she had never really cultivated a close friendship group that might have bought her silly birthday gifts over the years.

 _Well,_ she thought. _New town. New start. Maybe I’ll make friends in Casterly._

She took a cab from the station to Casterly, because it was so out of the way she would have had to change to three different buses to get there. Brienne didn’t feel any better about the situation when the taxi driver himself got lost and had to google it. His incompetence added another hour on to her trip. Lost in the wilds of Somerset, she felt further from home than she ever had in her life.

“Whereabouts in the village are you going, Miss?” asked the driver once they passed the huge WELCOME TO CASTERLY sign on the outskirts of the village.

“Errr… the White Stag Hotel? I think it’s on Dragonstone Street.”

A week earlier she had received a rather brusque email from her new boss, Chief Inspector Tywin Lannister, informing her that accommodation had not yet been found for her in the village, but the police were happy to put her up in the local hotel until a nice place was chosen. Brienne had thanked him, still too cut up about being exiled from London to begin fully planning her new life in Casterly, and had accepted gratefully.

As they pulled into the cobbled Dragonstone Street it began to tip down with rain, which seemed to compel the driver to say he couldn’t drive any further because it was a pedestrianised zone and she’d have to walk. Brienne paid him his due, but, not trusting him as far as she could throw him, she refused to let him get her suitcase out of the boot, and was then soaking wet in five seconds for her efforts.

 _Great,_ she thought. _This is just bloody great._ The only ray of hope was that, for once, she was glad she never bothered with make-up. Her eyeliner would be streaking down her cheeks if she did.

It was getting late by the time she eventually found the hotel, and her stomach was rumbling. Yet, in spite of her bad mood, Brienne could see the White Stag was a cosy sort of place. Each of the windows had colourful shutters in rainbow colours and flowers had been planted everywhere they could possibly fit. It made her feel marginally better about everything – at least she would be comfortable for her first few weeks in the village.

It was not until she walked into the reception of the White Stag, however, that she fully became reconciled to the thought of living in Casterly permanently. At the desk, illuminated by a desk lamp, sat the most physically beautiful specimen of a man she had ever seen in the flesh. As her eyes fell on him for the first time, she was pretty certain she could hear the _Hallelujah Chorus_ playing. Even though he was hunched over his desk she could tell he was tall, perhaps her height, with chocolate brown hair and matching eyes, and there was something about him that suddenly inhibited her ability to speak. He was wearing a stripped knitted jumper in seven colours, which she was sure it was a sign that he was quirky and fun. His personality would fit hers precisely.

Suddenly remembering she was soaking wet, Brienne realised what a perfect start this was. _Almost rom-comesque,_ she thought.  _And god, do I love a good rom-com._

Brienne shuffled her suitcase forward, suddenly conscious that her hair was a mess and she was wearing a tracksuit. To her relief, he was not fully focussed on her as he had one earphone in, blasting out music (she was momentarily taken aback by what he was listening to – Brienne would recognise 2004’s one hit wonder _The Cheeky Girls_ anywhere). As he listened to music, he was completing a huge crossword from _The Times_ , and she could clearly see there were some clues he was stuck on.

“Soulmate,” she said. He looked up at her and she nearly drowned in his eyes.

“Pardon?”

“Soulmate. It’s seven down. _The romantic other half of one’s soul_.”

He smiled, “oooh! Thanks! I’ve been stuck on that for ages.”

“That’s okay.”

 _Stop it,_ she told herself, _you don’t even know his name and yet you are drooling all over him._

Her heart fluttered as he pulled the earphone out of his ear, _The Cheeky Girls_ still bopping away, inviting the listener to _touch their bums_. Her cheeks reddening, she watched as he folded up his newspaper and then pulled across a big leather book from the side of the desk.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his smile still hovering on his lips. His question brought her back down to Earth.

“Yes, I am here to check in.”

A look of confusion crossed his face. “Oh, I don’t think we have anyone booked in fitting your description.” He flicked through the book, “unless you are Brian Tarth.”

She sighed. What a great way to start her wooing of this bloke – him thinking she was a man called Brian.

“It’s Brienne Tarth. I think Chief Inspector Tywin must have booked the room under the wrong name.”

The man chuckled, “oh, I wouldn’t be too offended. Tywin doesn’t care about anyone’s name unless they are a Lannister.” That sent a slight shiver of unease through Brienne, but the man continued on regardless. “If you, Brienne Tarth, are in fact the Brian Tarth I have booked in here, that makes you Casterly’s new sergeant, doesn’t it?” His smile was so brilliantly dazzling that Brienne quite forgot herself for a moment.

“Yarp… I mean… yes… yes. I’m Brienne.”

She extended her hand to him, and when he took his in hers, her whole body caught aflame.

“Hi Brienne. I’m Renly Baratheon, the proprietor of this lovely establishment. Welcome!”

“Thank you,” she managed to stutter, surprised that he could hear her over the rapid hammering of her own heart. “I’m sorry I’m a bit late. There was a naked man… and the taxi driver got a bit lost…”

“A naked man?” he asked, a laugh on his lips, “now I’m interested.” Getting to his feet, he said, “not to worry about your lateness, though, it gave me more time to get your room ready. Want to come see?”

“Sure,” she said.

As soon as he had shimmied round the desk, he had picked up her suitcase and began directing her firmly up to the room, chatting about her travel and the village and the weather. There were no spaces in the conversation for her to say anything, so she just let him talk. His voice sounded like a song anyway.

 _Stop it, Brienne,_ the rational part of her brain said, _this will end up worse than Connington._

Renly soon unlocked a door on the third floor of the building, revealing a cosy attic room with a bathroom and a view of Dragonstone Street below. Without her asking, he put the suitcase on her bed and opened the windows. “The police are paying for you to stay as long as you need, but if you need anything extra, let me know.”

“Thank you,” she said, trying not to blush.

“Do you have any questions? About the hotel? The village?”

Brienne’s stomach rumbled loudly. “Erm, does the hotel have a restaurant?”

“Ah,” he said, “unfortunately, the kitchen is out of action at the moment because we are getting it refurbished. In a week’s time though, I would be happy to make you some food. However, in the absence of my extraordinary culinary skills tonight, I can give you some recommendations, if you want, for places to eat in the village?”

“Thanks, that would be great.”

* * *

 

Brienne had a little nap, waited for the rain to die down, and changed clothes before she went to the pub that Renly had recommended – _The Inn at the Crossroads_. As she slept a lot longer than she had intended, it was nearly 9pm by the time she eventually made her way down Dragonstone Street. She didn’t see Renly on her way out. It was a mixture of disappointment and relief – although she would have liked to see his handsome face again, she would have said something stupid.

Her walk to the pub was punctuated by thoughts of him. No matter how much she tried to tell herself to forget about Renly, she had quickly come to the conclusion that the world was suddenly better simply because he existed. He had been nice to her, he had smiled at her, and she could forgive him for listening to _The Cheeky Girls_.

Her stomach rumbled to herald her arrival at the pub. It nearly full, with most of the tables full of gruff farmer types downing drinks. The most obvious exception was the little group of young people huddled round the pool table. The most conspicuous of this group was a girl with brown hair with blue streaks, who had some helpless looking boy pinned up against the side of the slot machine, snogging him madly. Brienne made the decision to avoid them and went straight to the bar.

“Hello,” said the barman in a broad Geordie accent, as she popped herself on one of the stools. “Can I get you anything?”

“Yes, is the kitchen still open? I’m starving!”

He laughed, “We’re open until 10, but our chef Masha has just popped home because her son has locked himself out. Can you wait fifteen minutes?”

When she replied with a slightly concerned expression, the barman said, “you wouldn’t want Pod or I to cook for you,” he said, signalling to the young barman down the other end of the bar. “We’d poison you.”

She smiled. “Yes, that’s fine. I can wait.”

“Do you want a drink in the meantime?” he asked.

“Yes please. Can I have a cranberry juice?”

“Sure.”

As the barman went to fill her drink, Brienne turned her eyes to Pod. He was down the other end of the bar talking to a man who was only half sitting on his stool.

“You really don’t need another one…” said Pod.

“Of course I do.”

“But you already seem quite drunk.”

“That’s the point of drinking, isn’t it?” the man said, “to get drunk?”

When the barman brought her the one hundred percent non-alcoholic cranberry juice, he said, “I’m Davos Seaworth by the way.”

She wasn’t used to barmen introducing themselves in London, she was never one to get chatted up after all. Yet Davos didn’t seem interested in her in that way, it was just that he was being friendly in that unfamiliar country way.

“I’m Brienne, Brienne Tarth. I’m the new police sergeant.”

The drunk down the other end of the bar coughed. “Wha?” he slurred, “shouldn’t you be called Brian?”

Brienne turned her head and looked at him for the first time. She had to admit, for a drunk, he was pretty attractive. He looked about thirty-five, with a jawline as sharp as a knife and hair of spun gold. Even though his eyes were slightly bloodshot, she could tell they were a ringing green. Even so, he had nothing on Renly.

“Who told you that?” she asked tersely.

“Everyone and their mum knows your name is Brian,” he said smugly.

She took a sip of her cranberry juice. “Well, everyone and their mum is wrong, then, because my name is Brienne.”

The man staggered out of his chair, lunging over her at his full height. She could smell the alcohol on him and it turned her stomach. “We were all expecting an old, near retirement, fat bloke with a gammy leg, because that’s what those London twats always send us. Not some big, ugly wench who looks like she could snap my neck if she tried to hug me.”

Pod let out a fearful hiss, feeling the sting of the insult. Even Davos muttered, “there’s no need for that.” In contrast, Brienne said nothing, even though she felt the slap. At school, people had always called her ugly. It had been pummelled so hard into her skull that she knew it was nothing but the incontrovertible the truth. Yet, she had not expected that it would be flung so nakedly in her face now she was an adult, especially on her first day in a new town. Her sudden reminder of the truth that sat so awkwardly at the centre of her life swiftly diminished the little dream she had built for herself on the walk from the White Stag. It had consisted of her, Renly, and a white picket fence. Her hopes suddenly felt very far away.

The drunk was smiling at her now, in a way that if she was a naïve little girl she would think was lecherous. In the circumstance, she did the only thing she could think of doing to such a pathetic man. Getting to her feet, she stood up to her full height, making sure she towered fully over him. She had to admit she had underestimated how tall he was, but even so, she still had a couple of inches on him. His eyes grew wide as he looked up at her, and he gulped heavily.

“You were saying?” she said, fixing him with a glare that she hoped was mildly terrifying. He said nothing, but continued to gaze at her, his Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down in his throat.

Suddenly, there was a scream of laughter from the other side of the pub, which caused both Brienne and the drunk to snap their heads round. The girl with streaks in her hair had removed her tongue from down that poor boys throat and was now guffawing over one of her friends who was playing pool. All four of them were holding huge pints of beer in their hands, and the bigger boy was sloshing it all over himself in his effort to drink. Brienne quickly analysed the scene. The three boys were clearly all trying to entertain the girl who, even though she had a nose piercing, possessed something young and innocent.

Brienne took in the scene and squinted, noticing something she had missed when she first arrived. The girl was definitely younger than eighteen, perhaps sixteen at most. And Brienne knew the law well – the drinking age in the UK was eighteen (with the exception that sixteen and seventeen year olds who could drink beer, wine, or cider with a meal if accompanied by an adult).

There was no adult or meal in sight.

Without noticing, Brienne had left the drunk at the bar and begun to walk towards the teenagers. As she grew closer, she saw the whole lot of them were younger than Brienne had initially supposed. The boy whom the girl had been kissing must have been the oldest, perhaps seventeen, but the bigger boy and the blonde were even younger than the girl. By the time Brienne reached the edge of pool table, the little group’s chatter had descended into silence. The boys looked nervous, but the girl met Brienne’s eye ferociously.

“What do you want?” the girl said, an air of aggression pervading her.

“What’s your name?” responded Brienne.

The girl said, “what does it matter to you?” just as the bigger boy chimed in with “Arya”.

Arya shot him an angry look before turning back to Brienne.

“So, Arya,” said Brienne, reaching into her pocket to pull out her badge. “I see you’ve got yourself a nice pint of beer there. When’s your birthday?”

Arya smirked, “every year.”

A smile caught at Brienne’s lips. “Oh, very clever. But what _date_ is your birthday?”

When Arya didn’t respond, the boy with the bull t-shirt said, “she was born on the… um… eighth of May 1982.”

“She’s thirty seven?” Brienne snapped back. Her Kumon Maths as a child had paid off.

“Yeah?” said the boy, quelled by the ferocious look Brienne was giving him.

“Get out, all of you,” Brienne insisted. “You shouldn’t be drinking here. You are all under eighteen. It’s illegal.”

“Masha lets us…” piped up the blond boy, but Brienne silenced him.

“I don’t care what Masha says. I am the new police sergeant in this town, and I do things by the book. What I say goes, _goes_.”

Arya’s expression grew angrier, but there was none of the sneering contempt she had given Brienne earlier. If Brienne was a more positive person, she would suspect there was a hint of respect in the girl’s eyes.

“Come on!” said Brienne, putting her badge away, “get out. All of you!”

Arya and her three boys got up from beside the pool table, abandoning their beers and trudging out of the pub. Only Arya held her head high. Brienne knew she would have to watch out for that one. Following them to the door, she was ambushed by Davos. “Sergeant, is there a problem here?”

“I am just escorting some of your underage patrons out of your pub to make sure this continues to be a _reputable_ establishment.”

Davos smiled nervously, “oh, but Masha always says it is better for them to be in here than out there getting in trouble.”

Brienne grew tense, “I do not care what Masha thinks. Underage drinking is illegal and will not happen in this pub while I am in this town. Make sure Masha knows that, so it doesn’t happen again.”

Davos nodded, a little wary, “of course.” Brienne let him go back to the bar and instead followed the teenagers outside, right the way across the road, until Arya turned around.

“Are you going to follow me all the way home?” she spat, “and tuck me up in bed and kiss me goodnight?”

Brienne gave her a stern look. “I am just making sure you do what I told you to do.”

Arya gave Brienne the two fingered salute, sending a rippling chuckle amongst the boys, before rolling her eyes and taking the hand of the dark haired boy. As the four teenagers walked away, Arya shot a look at Brienne, clearly expecting Brienne to react to her obscene hand gesture. The way Brienne saw it, flipping someone off wasn’t illegal, so she’d let it slide. Underage drinking without an adult or a nice side of chips, however, definitely was.

* * *

 

Brienne only turned around to head back into the pub once Arya and her three gentlemen friends had well and truly disappeared into the night. However, the door was blocked by the drunk, who had suddenly come staggering out of the pub.

“Oh, hello Brian,” he said, a lilting smile on his face, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I thought you would have had our teenage rebels beheaded by now.”

“My name is not Brian,” she said, suddenly tired.

“What would you prefer I call you?” he slurred. “Wench? I think I like wench. It rhymes with hench. The _big, ugly, hench wench_. I like that.”

Brienne didn’t like this drunk, he seemed to find a way to needle at all her insecurities with the cruellest of words, and he’d only met her five seconds ago. But she was a bloody police sergeant, she wasn’t going to let him upset her. Being the adult that she was, she would rise above it and to return to the pub, dreaming of chips.

However, the drunk interrupted her plans once again when she noticed he had staggered towards a car parked opposite the large war memorial.

“I hope you are not intending to drive that,” Brienne said. “Driving under the influence of alcohol is illegal.”

“I’d never do that,” he said, sarcastically, continuing to fiddle with his keys.

Brienne sighed. She didn’t want to be wasting her whole evening on rebellious teenagers and rude drunks. She wanted to eat her goddamn dinner and then go back to the hotel, maybe catch Renly to say a nervous _hi_ , and then go to bed. Work started tomorrow, and she didn’t want to be grumpy and tired in the morning.

However, once again, the drunk interrupted her plans. Just as she put her hand on the door leading back to the pub, there was an enormous rev of an engine, a huge screech of tyres, and then an almighty crash. Brienne turned around just in time to see the drunk plow his car straight into the War Memorial, sending the plaque whizzing across the road and activating the air bag with a dramatic flourish. It was lucky he was only going about ten miles an hour, or he could have really hurt himself.

Brienne was at the side of the car before he had time to react. Flinging open the door, she pulled him up by the front of his shirt into a standing position. He didn’t resist, in fact, he just stared at her with those big green eyes again.

“Right, I’m taking you to the station,” she said furiously.

There was a pause, which Brienne could have later sworn lasted twenty five minutes.

The drunk smiled. “You don’t know where it is, do you… wench?”

* * *

 

After twenty minutes of trying to get her phone to connect to 4G and failing, and then trying to get the drunk to tell her where the police station was and failing, she eventually decided to march in the opposite direction to the White Stag, surmising she hadn’t seen the station on her entry to the village and it must be somewhere pretty central. Luckily, her hunch was correct, and she was soon bundling the drunk through its front doors.

“Ow, wench! Do you have to manhandle me so hard?” he said, as she dug her fingers into his left arm. When she didn’t reply, a nasty smile came across his face, “unless you _like_ manhandling me.”

She ignored him, but only let go of his shirt once she was standing in front of the officer at the reception desk. He was a young guy with dark hair and grey eyes, the kind of guy a young silly girl would swoon over. However, it became rapidly clear he wasn’t very perceptive, as he didn’t notice her at first because he was too engrossed in a book entitled _10 Ways to Woo a Wildling_.

When Brienne coughed, he looked up.

“Oh, hello!” he said, before a look of consternation came over his face. “Who are you?”

She got her badge out.

“Sergeant Brienne Tarth,” he said slowly. “Are you the new sergeant?”

_God, this kid is slow._

“Yes,” she said, annoyed, “but weren’t you expecting a Brian? Apparently, that’s what everyone and their mum was expecting around here.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “no. Nobody tells me nothing.”

The drunk laughed. “No, Jon. The fact is, you just _know nothing_.”

Jon smiled at him affectionately. “Are you here for the night?”

“Yep,” said the drunk, “the wench wants me in a cell. I hear she wants to do dirty things to me.”

Brienne scowled at him and the drunk gave her what he clearly thought was a charming smile.

“Well, four’s free,” said Jon, and on his words the drunk began to wander off.

“Wait a minute!” said Brienne, with the tone of an imperious headmistress, “I need to speak to him!”

“Oh,” said Jon, “he’ll be talking crap until at least tomorrow morning. You’ll get nothing out of him until then.”

Brienne nodded, a little put off. She went to say something, but then she recalled that nobody came to her leaving party in London. Maybe it was best not to pick fights with her colleagues before her first day.

“Okay, but I expect to see him first thing tomorrow.”

“Alright,” said Jon, going back to his book.

It was just at that moment that Brienne’s stomach roared. She had only had half a cranberry juice since lunchtime, and she was starving. Quickly, she looked at her watch.

_Fuck, it’s five past ten, the kitchen at the Inn at the Crossroads is closed._

She sighed. Her first day in Casterly had been a disaster; her train journey had been a nightmare, her taxi driver was a moron, she had fast developed a hopeless desire to get into her hotel keeper’s pants, lots of the locals were lax about laws, she had a drunken idiot to deal with in the morning, and she was now so hungry she was surprised her stomach hadn’t consumed her internal organs.

 _If tomorrow is as bad as today,_ she thought, _I’ll get straight on the train tomorrow evening and return to London_. _Who would want to be a police officer in a place like Casterly?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why Renly is listening to The Cheeky Girls (it just seemed right, somehow), or why I remembered the word "hench", which I last used sometime in 2008. Besides my old age, I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Next time... Brienne meets her new co-workers, and is surprised to discover that one of them is the last person she would expect...


	3. Brienne's First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Brienne's first day on the job and she has to try to work with Jaime Lannister...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am blown away by the reaction to this story! Thank you to everyone who gave comments and kudos - please keep them coming!

The next morning, Brienne was ready to face the first day of the rest of her life. Remembering her father’s words, she was determined to make her situation in Casterly work. She got up early, showered, and was in her uniform an hour before she needed to be. It meant she had time to pop to the nearby supermarket – _Lannisters_ – to pick up some supplies. Renly very graciously allowed her to store most of her items in his fridge, because the minibar in her room was stuffed with beer she wasn’t going to drink.

She decided to walk to work and was surprised by the number of people who she had never met before who said good morning to her. Feeling a little awkward, she would just give a stiff nod and return the gesture.

The police station was much easier to find in the daylight, especially as she wasn’t hauling a sneering drunk along behind her. As she went through the front door, she gave a passing nod to Jon, who she was surprised was still on duty (and had apparently finished _10 Ways to Woo a Wildling_ and was now onto _A Brief History of Time_ ). She decided to go down and process the inebriate in cell four first, before going to introduce herself to her new colleagues. Maybe it would help win them over if she had already done a fair bit of the boring paper work on the case of the world’s most irritating drunk.

On arrival at his cell, she pulled open the slider in the cell door, just to check the inebriate was not waiting to jump her the second she walked in.

_Oh my god…_

To her horror, there was no one in the cell. She frantically checked the others, but they too were empty.

“Can I get cell four open please!” she shouted back up to Jon, and soon a loud buzz heralded the fact he had heard and unlocked it for her. She marched inside and, just as she feared, it was completely empty.

_Oh crap…_

She thought back to last night, trying to build a mental picture of the drunk. He had been so wasted that he had alternated between calling her wench and Brian, and had mocked her all the whole time – about the way she looked, about the fact she didn’t know where the police station was, about how heavy handed she was. In spite of his irritating cruelty, he hadn’t struck her as the type of criminal mastermind that would be able to escape from a locked police cell.

She ran up and down the corridor a few more times, trying to find him, but it was no good. She’d have to go and tell her fellow officers there was an escapee. Leaving the cell, she marched back up past Jon into the big open staff room were most of her soon to be colleagues were congregating.

“My fellow officers,” she announced, in a voice she hoped was strong and authoritative, but she feared came across slightly panicked. “I know I have not introduced myself yet, but I am sorry to inform you all we have an escapee from cell four.”

She suddenly felt the presence of someone behind her, but he spoke before she could turn round.

“Who has escaped?” A cold chill darted down Brienne’s neck as she span to face him. She was met with the sight of last night's drunk, now scrubbed up and clean shaven, his golden hair shining in the light.

“Why are you dressed as a police officer?” she asked the drunk, “you do know it’s illegal to impersonate an officer of the law?”

He furrowed his brow, before letting out one of his cutting smiles she had become familiar with the previous evening, “because I am one?”

She went to speak, but was interrupted by one of the other officers, who had crossed the room to join them. He was a tall man, with light eyes and a ferocious stare, but even so she thought he was trying to be welcoming. “Ah, Sergeant Tarth,” he said, “it’s so nice you are finally here. I am Tywin Lannister, the Chief Inspector.” He shook her hand, “I see you’ve already met my son.”

She turned back to the drunk, who smiled and wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Jaime Lannister,” he said, extending his right hand to her, “pleasure to meet you, wench.”

She had to bite down on her tongue in an effort to stop herself calling him an utter bastard – she was sure that wouldn’t win over his father. Determined to be defiant, however, she refused to take his hand. “Mmm,” she said, “a pleasure indeed.”

She turned back to Tywin, “you do realise, Sir, that I caught your son drinking and driving last night? He crashed into the war memorial, causing significant damage.”

Tywin replied, solemnly, “of course, and for that he has been suitably punished.”

“Good,” she said. At least somebody was willing to take charge here.

However, at Tywin’s statement, an awkward silence descended across the room. Noticing it, Brienne took the opportunity to look at her fellow officers. Even though it was nine o’clock in the morning, every single one of them was not actually doing any work, but eating a slice of a particularly scrumptious looking chocolate cake. When her eyes fell on each of her new colleagues in turn, some of them looked sheepish, several looked away, and even the police dog began to eat his cake more gingerly.

She sighed. “His punishment was that the chocolate cake was on him, wasn’t it?”

* * *

 

Tywin spent the rest of the morning introducing Brienne to her fellow officers. Besides the abominable Jaime Lannister (who insisted on trotting around after her and the Chief Inspector), there was Sergeant Sandor Clegane, who had a rather nasty looking burn across his face. It was his job to mind the German Shepherd, Joff, whose bark was apparently worse than his bite.

“We call Sandor the Hound,” said Jaime.

“Why?” asked Brienne.

Jaime shrugged, “because he’s more police dog than human.”

As if on cue, the Hound growled at her.

After him, Tywin introduced her to another sergeant, Ilyn Payne. Wanting to make a better impression on him than she had the Hound, Brienne extended her hand to greet him, and he took it. “Hello, Ilyn. My name is Brienne.”

When he didn’t say anything, Brienne felt a blush rise across her cheeks. Had she done something wrong?

“Don’t expect an answer from him,” said Tywin, “he doesn’t have a tongue.”

“Doesn’t have a tongue? How did that happen?”

Jaime laughed. “Funnily enough, he’s never told any of us.”

After him came the only other woman in the service – a PC Margaery Tyrell – who was a young, beautiful woman with tresses of honey coloured hair. She greeted Brienne with a huge smile. “It’s lovely to meet you,” said Margaery enthusiastically, “I was expecting a Brian, but it will be so nice to have another policewoman on the team.”

Brienne smiled. Margaery was the first one of her colleagues apart from the Chief Inspector who had greeted her warmly, but while she didn’t want to alienate her, she couldn’t help herself. “We are not policewomen, but _police officers_. We are just the same as the men.”

Margaery shrugged, “I don’t know, being a policewoman comes in handy every once in a while.” She winked at Jaime and he laughed.

After Margaery, Tywin and Jaime escorted Brienne to the empty evidence room, and then up to the private office occupied by the two detectives. Brienne could barely see the two men sitting inside because it was so full of smoke. Tywin signalled to both men in turn. “This is where we keep the Robs. Do you know why we call them the Robs?”

Brienne shrugged, “because they both have the first name Robert?”

Tywin laughed, “you are very smart. Here we have Detective Sergeant Robb Stark and Detective Constable Robb Arryn.” From what Brienne could see of the two men, Robb was a handsome man with auburn hair and a moustache, while Robert was slighter, and only seemed to be puffing away on his cigarette in imitation of the more authoritative man.

“Hello Brian,” said Robb, elbowing at the other Robb in time with his own pathetic joke.

“It’s Brienne,” she said tersely, “and you do realise it is illegal to smoke in any enclosed workspace due to the Health Act 2006?”

Before either man could respond, Jaime said, “don’t worry, everything is illegal according to Brian. Even fun.”

“It’s _Brienne_ ,” she growled, snapping her head around to look at Jaime. He just smirked.

“Come now, come now,” said Tywin, trying to smooth over the obvious tension. “I’ll take you down to my office, and we can sort out what important things need to be done over the next few days.”

* * *

 

According to Tywin Lannister, there were only two things that were of paramount importance in the immediate future.

“The first,” said Tywin, “is that myself and the Neighbourhood Watch Alliance are holding a little gathering on Friday night to welcome you to town, Sergeant Tarth. All your colleagues will be there too.”

That was a surprise. In London, she’d had a real baptism by fire and the rest of her team had barely said hello.

“Thank you,” she smiled, feeling quite welcome in Casterly for the first time.

That rapidly changed with Tywin’s next statement.

“Secondly, I’m going to partner you with Jaime.”

Brienne spluttered, “pardon?” She suddenly felt very hot, mostly because of the shit-eating grin Jaime was giving her from his position on her right.

“I want you both out on the beat for the next week. Mr Varys of the NWA informs me that the town centre is currently suffering with a hoodie infestation, and I don’t want it getting out of hand.”

Jaime tapped Brienne on the shoulder, “is wearing a hoodie illegal, Brian?”

She ignored him and turned back to Tywin, “surely… there’s a more suitable candidate? Margaery might…”

“No,” said Tywin forcefully, in a tone that reminded her of Oberyn, “it will be you and Jaime.”

Brienne’s heart sank. She would have taken anyone as her partner over the utter twat who relished calling her Brian – bubbly Margaery, mute Ilyn, growly Sandor with his even growlier dog, or either of the chain-smoking Robbs – but it seemed the universe was intent on shitting on her head yet again.

“I’d get going if I were you,” said Tywin, “When Varys isn't moaning about teenagers, it's about living statues, so I want them dealt with.” There was a type of gravelly authority to his voice that had Brienne nodding in agreement.

_Remember, your number one priority is to be of service to this community._

“Yes, sir,” she said, “I won’t let you down.”

“Good,” said Tywin, finally sitting at the desk, “I’m sure Jaime can fill you in on the all the ins and outs of the village and tell you where to meet for this party on Friday. Oh, and here are the keys to your police car.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Tywin turned on his computer, “and before you go, remember to have some of that cake.” Brienne nodded to her boss one final time before exiting the room, Jaime trotting behind her. She made a mental note to try that cake, even if only to take part in Jaime's punishment on some level.

* * *

 

Within thirty seconds of leaving Tywin’s office, Brienne had already deduced that Jaime was one of those people who found it totally impossible to shut up.

“So, shall we go downstairs? I’ll follow my father’s instructions and _fill you in_ if you need me to.”

“I don’t need or want you to fill me in on anything, thank you,” she said, purposefully ignoring his suggestion. “I have my own brain.”

“Oh, that’s good,” he said, wiping his brow in mock relief, “because you’d be dead if you didn’t.”

He chatted utter bullshit all the way to the reception, where she came to a halt, determined to knock some sense into him.

“Look, I have come here to do my job," Brienne said. "I don’t intend to piss about with you all day making stupid jokes, and then go and get bladdered in the evening. I want to be a good police officer, and this community deserves a police service that puts its interests first. Do you understand me?”

Jaime clearly didn’t think she was being serious.

“Come on, wench,” he beamed, “nothing goes on around here. I guarantee you we’ll just end up sitting in the car all day bickering until our shift ends. There are ways to make it more exciting; I can buy you an ice cream, if you want. The chocolate gateau hasn’t completely broken the bank.”

He was still wearing that rage inducing smile he had adopted the previous night, and she only grew more tense when he rested his right hand on her shoulder. The way his fingers dug into her seemed to be purposefully done to enrage her, especially as he had earlier revelled in making jokes about him _filling her in_ , and her _manhandling_ him. She was prepared to flinch away, but stopped when she noticed how heavy and unnatural those fingers felt. Her expression must have changed, as he quickly removed his hand from her, his smile fading.

It was only when his arm was once against hanging by his side that she could see what had surprised her so much – he was wearing a prosthetic hand. Not wanting to stare, she looked back up into his big green eyes, which were wearing an emotion she was not familiar with. The moment of vulnerability she thought she had sensed in him shattered, however, when he began to laugh.

“Oh, wench, you are not a fan of me, are you?”

“Stop calling me wench,” she spat, “and no I am not a fan. I wasn’t aware when I took this job that I would have a hardened criminal as a partner.”

He continued to laugh. “God, if you think I’m a hardened criminal you must have been sleeping on the job in London.”

“Don’t accuse me of being a bad police officer,” she said. In her books, that was worse than calling her ugly. “I am, in fact, great at my job.”

“How _modest_ ,” he said wryly, “have you regularly been _cooking fools_ in the big city then?”

“You don’t need to be _cooking fools_ on the regular to be a good police officer,” she insisted. “You just need to be there to serve your community. You need to make sure criminals are processed in accordance with the law and try your upmost to make sure both victims and perpetrators feel the police treats them fairly. We play a role in making sure people feel that society plays them a fair hand, and in order to do that, individual police offers have to operate to a certain standard and offer an example to the wider community.”

His expression was unreadable for a moment, but then he recovered his usual arrogance. “How _noble_ ,” he said, bowing to her mockingly. “And I suppose you think being a good policeman doesn’t involve getting plastered and crashing into war memorials.”

“ _Police officer_ ,” she spat, before remembering her earlier commitment to trying to get on better with her new colleagues. It was going to be so difficult, because Jaime Lannister was an infuriating idiot, and she started to go red with annoyance. “I’m not going to stand here bickering with you about why you seem to me to be totally unprepared for this job. The Chief Inspector has asked us to go on patrol together, so that’s what I intend to do.”

She would have thought that her insulting him in this way would have riled him, but Jaime only shrugged, “I’m only going because that’s what they give me money to do. It’s called a job.”

Brienne turned her back on him. He really was the lowest of the low.

The two of them didn’t speak again until they were outside standing by the police car, Brienne having unlocked it. She looked at him, trying to ask without words whether he wanted to drive. He seemed to understand what she was getting at, as he said, “God, wench, I’ve only got one hand" and began waving his prosthetic at her. "Of course you are going to have to drive.”

As they got in the car and plugged themselves in, he said, “I thought you were earlier claiming to be in possession of a brain. When in my presence, can you please try to use it?”

Brienne turned the ignition on a little more forcefully than she intended and ended up making the car stall.

She was determined to ignore his smug grin.

This was going to be a very long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you enjoyed the introduction of Brienne's colleagues - we'll be seeing a lot more of them in the coming chapters. As you can see, this is the first chapter where it really starts to get a bit different from the film, and this is mostly because Jaime and Danny are very different characters. Please let me know if the changes work!
> 
> Next time... Brienne goes to the NWA Welcome Party, and meets more of Casterly's residents...


	4. A Long Neck with an Orange Bill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne prepares to go to the NWA party, but she is not quite expecting the secrets she will uncover while there...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've got another chapter for you - unbeta'd again (of course).
> 
> I was a bit terrified last time that you'd all think Jaime was a bit harsh, but it seems he went down well! There is more of him to come in this chapter.
> 
> I am so overwhelmed by all your lovely comments and kudos. Please keep them coming, they inspire me to write :D

As much as it annoyed her, Jaime was right. For the next few days, they did absolutely nothing but sit in the car, bicker, and have inane conversations about nothing.

“Wench,” asked Jaime, “if you ended up travelling through time – _Time Traveller’s Wife_ style – so you ended up in 1993 with no clothes on, what would you do?”

“What sort of question is that?” Brienne huffed.

“A question sort of a question. What would you do?”

“In what reality is that ever going to be a situation I would have to deal with?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe you’ve got stuck in some absurd chick flick about time travelling.”

She didn’t deign him with a response. In the few days that she had known him, she had worked out engaging with him only made him even more ridiculous. Ignoring him was her best option. The only time she had successfully gotten him to reduce the volume of words he spoke for more than ten minutes was a few days into this new hell, when Margaery buzzed through to them on the car radio.

“Hey guys, we’ve just had a call from Gilly at the nature reserve. Apparently one of the swans has escaped. Could you go down and check it out?”

“Of course,” said Brienne, “we’ll be right on it.”

“Thanks.”

As Brienne kicked the car into life, Jaime began to moan.

“Oh, rural policing is just so _exciting_ ,” he whinged, “I cannot contain myself having to deal with all these high-octane car chases, drug smuggling rings, and escaped swans.”

“Shut up,” said Brienne, “you knew what you were signing up for when you joined police training.”

“Oh yes, it was the ambition of spending the afternoon with an ugly wench chasing a swan around a medium sized village that enticed me.”

When they arrived at the nature reserve, Gilly gave them all the details of the offending swan, and then sent them in the direction of one of the more out of the way farms. It reminded Brienne of the sort of places her dad would have taken her when she was a child – scenic, with an ancient undisturbed tranquillity that penetrated to the bone.

If there was anyone in the world who could disturb such a peace, however, it was Jaime Lannister.

“Honk!” he shouted. “Honk!”

“What are you doing?” Brienne hissed.

Jaime gave her an expression as if to say it was totally obvious what he was doing.

“I’m getting in touch with my inner swan.”

“Why do you have an inner swan?”

Jaime looked surprised. “Don’t you?”

“No?”

“Well, it’s time you developed one. If we want to _catch_ this swan, we’ve got to _think_ like a swan.”

“How do you propose we…”

“Honk!”

Jaime and Brienne spent the next twenty five minutes running around the farm, with Jaime honking at any bird that had the misfortune to cross their path.

“Jaime, why are you honking at that blackbird?”

“I’m questioning it. It might have information on our criminal swan.”

Brienne crossed her arms in annoyance, “I am getting the impression that you are not taking this very seriously.”

Jaime gave her one of his smiles that would have been dazzling if he were her type. “Your impression would be correct. We’ve literally spent the best part of our day chasing a swan around. On what planet would you ever expect me to take that seriously?”

“On a planet where you take your _job_ seriously?”

“Lucky I don’t live on that planet then, isn’t it?”

* * *

 

When they finally, _finally_ , got to the end of their shift, Brienne tried to leap out the car as quickly as possible.

“Woah, slow down,” said Jaime, “I though you were going to this swanky do my dad and the Neighbourhood Watch are throwing tonight?”

“I am,” she said, trying not to show him the nerves that had been eating her up all week. “Why?”

His cheeks went ever so slightly red, “well, I was just wondering whether you wanted to come and get a drink first? A bit of Dutch Courage might be good for us both.”

“I don’t think Dutch Courage is ever good for _you_ ,” she said, shooting him down, “when you’re under the influence you have a tendency to drive into war memorials. And anyway, I’ve got to get ready. Renly said he’d help me pick out an outfit.”

Jaime nodded, “oh… okay then. I suppose I’ll see you later.”

“Sure,” said Brienne, internally making a note that she would do everything in her power to avoid him once she actually got to the party.

She slammed the car door before he could say anything else to her, and quickly made her way back towards _The White Stag_. As expected, Renly was in the reception, watching a Youtube video entitled _100 Greatest Eurovision Hits_.

“Hi Brienne,” he said, just as Conchita Wurst instructed her to _Rise Like a Phoenix_.

“Hi Renly…” she mumbled. She hadn’t strictly been telling Jaime the truth. She had hoped Renly would help her pick an outfit, prayed he might be interested, but she hadn’t actually confirmed this with him via spoken words. “I’m just going to get ready for that party I’m going to…”

“Great,” said Renly absentmindedly, “I’ll be down here if you need anything.”

Brienne decided to take that as a good start. She went up to her room, showered, and began to rummage through her wardrobe. Most of the clothes she had bought from London had been designed to allow her to sit around in her pants in maximum comfort on a weekend, so she was a little worried that nothing would suit. Her dread rapidly began to grow once she discovered that the green dress she once wore to her dad’s retirement party had an almighty stain on it, and she would have to get it dry cleaned before attempting to wear it. In its absence, she eventually settled on a grey and white power suit that she had first adopted when being interviewed for the police service. It was a little plain and austere, but at least it meant she could go to the party without the word _Juicy_ written across her arse.

Picking up her make-up bag, she went down to the reception, chewing her lip. As she descended the stairs, Dana International’s _Viva la Diva_ was booming across the reception.

When Renly saw her, he gave a little start. “Oh…” he said, “very…err… Margaret Thatcher chic.”

That was not the aesthetic she had been going for.

“I just discovered my party dress had a massive stain on it. This was my second best bet.”

Renly stepped forward. “It’s fine, we can make this work.” He went back to his desk, where he found a colourful handkerchief and folded it into a square, putting it into her breast pocket. He then undid a couple of her top buttons, and Brienne tried to ignore the tingling sensation his fingers inspired across her neck.

“Right,” he said, “before we decide how dramatic you have to go with the make-up, where is this party taking place?”

“Casterly Rock.” Renly looked visibly shocked.

“Where’s Casterly Rock?” said Brienne, suddenly concerned.

“It’s the big manor house on the outskirts of town, the ancestral seat of the Lannisters. They got made Lords of the Manor when they bent the knee to William the Conqueror or something in 1066…” he paused, “or maybe it was old monastery land they bought off Henry VIII in the 1540s, I don’t know, but the point is they’ve had it a _hell_ of a long time. Tywin raised his three kids there, but only him and Cersei actually live there now. If it’s being held there, I imagine everyone in the village will be coming to see you.”

 _Oh god,_ thought Brienne, _Jaime wasn’t lying when he said it was a swanky do._

“What does that mean for my make-up?” she asked Renly, a little nervously.

“I think it means we need to go for _strong and sophisticated woman about town_. I’ll get up some Youtube tutorials.” Renly and Brienne spent the next ten minutes searching through the internet to find the perfect look and once she had applied it to her face, Brienne had to admit she did look marginally less ugly than she usually did.

“Thank you, Renly,” she said, “from the bottom of my heart. I’m _hopeless_ at this sort of thing.” She tried to give him a damsel in distress look that she had long suspected men liked. Thinking she was being somewhat successful, she tried to seal the deal. “You’ve already done so much for me today, but I was just wondering whether you would be able to drop me at the party? I’m not quite sure where it is.”

Renly shook his head. “Sorry, Brienne, I’ve got to go and rehearse the play with Loras tonight. I know a cab driver, though, he could do you mates rates.”

Brienne tried not to look disappointed. “Thanks. That’s very kind of you.”

* * *

 

Forty-five minutes later, Brienne was in the back of a cab, being driven up the long gravel path of Casterly Rock. Even in the evening light, she could see what an impressive building it was. Long and sleek, in a neo-classical style, part of her felt like she was Elizabeth Bennet arriving at Mr Darcy’s Pemberley in Act Two of _Pride and Prejudice_. It was only a shame for Brienne that her Mr Darcy was back at _The White Stag_.

When the taxi driver pulled up by the front door, she paid him his money, but as she did so, he whispered, “that Cersei Lannister can be a little bit terrifying if you are not prepared. Don’t let her frighten you.”

Brienne furrowed her brow in confusion. “Thank you… I won’t.”

It took a lot of strength to push open the heavy front door of Casterly Rock, but once she was inside a part of her regretted doing it. The entrance hall, lined with portraits of very eminent looking blond Lannister ancestors, was full of people. Most of them were her colleagues or distinguished people in the town, but a few were waiters brought up from the village, carrying canapes on trays. She didn’t have time to orientate herself before she heard a voice calling her.

“Hey, wench, I’ve been waiting for you to arrive.”

Her heart sank. It was Jaime.

“Hello,” she said half-heartedly, as he bounded up to her. He was wearing a maroon suit, clearly tailored specially for him, with a pair of shining black brogues. It annoyed her somewhat that he scrubbed up so well, while she had to struggle to look plain.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked, “there’s some champagne floating around somewhere.”

“No,” she said, a little more brusquely than she intended.

Her response dimmed his smile somewhat. “I know brevity is the soul of all wit, wench, but could you please use words longer than a syllable when you talk to me?”

“I have,” she said defensively, “hello has two syllables.”

His smile grew once again at the thought he had reeled her in to yet another ridiculous badinage. “And while we are having this _scintillating_ conversation, could you please inform me why you have decided to attend this party dressed as a Soviet nuclear physicist from the mid-1980s?”

She blushed when she didn’t have a quick response, but their conversation was interrupted by a silky voice.

“Oh, I see you’ve already met my brother.” A blonde vision in a red dress suddenly appeared, one arm wrapped around Jaime’s waist.

“Hello Cersei,” he said, his voice suddenly tense.

“Are you not going to introduce me to your…” she looked Brienne up and down, “ _little_ friend?”

Although Cersei was easily the most beautiful woman Brienne had ever seen, there was a smile on her face that Brienne didn’t quite like. It was reminiscent of the one Jaime would give when calling her _wench_ , but at least then, there was some warmth in his green eyes. In contrast, Cersei’s identical eyes were cold. Waiting for Jaime to speak, Cersei flicked her waist length golden hair over her shoulder, revealing a slender neck around which hung a necklace with a lion's face on it.

“This is Sergeant Brienne Tarth,” said Jaime stiffly, “and this is my sister, Cersei.”

“ _Twin_ sister,” Cersei corrected, and once she had said it, it seemed to Brienne that Jaime and Cersei grew more similar to one another the more she looked at them. “Aren’t you going to tell her what I do?” said Cersei, fixing Jaime with an admonishing look.

“Oh, yes,” he said, a blush coming over his cheeks, “sorry. Cersei is the managing director of _Lannisters_ supermarket, which has forty stores across the South West of England.”

“I built it up almost single-handedly,” boasted Cersei, “my father and Uncle Kevan inherited the stores back in the 80s, but it is me that built the company up to what it is today.”

“That’s great,” said Brienne unenthusiastically, suddenly wishing she had taken Jaime up on his offer of champagne.

“It is,” said Cersei, with a self-satisfied smirk, eyeing Brienne up and down. “I know when I see a kindred spirit. It will be so nice to have another _strong woman_ around the village. Although you are quite a _different_ calibre of femininity to me.” The way Cersei’s eyes rolled over her made Brienne feel sixteen again. She was standing in the school hall, Red Connington had suddenly dropped her hand, and every girl in her year was pointing and laughing…

 _No,_ thought Brienne, _I won’t let this woman take me back there._

“Yes,” said Brienne. In spite of Jaime’s earlier protestations against mono-syllables, it was the only thing that she could say when in the line of sight of a vicious bitch.

Cersei pressed a hand to her chest. “I mean, it’s been so hard for me since my poor husband Robert died, it will be nice to make new friends.”

Jaime disconnected himself from his twin. “ _Ex_ -husband,” he said.

“Yes, _ex_ -husband,” said Cersei, “although we always had our difficulties, Robert and I loved one another _immensely_.”

This story aroused a scintilla of pity in Brienne for Cersei Lannister. “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Brienne, “it’s always hard to lose someone you love. How did he die?”

“Accidentally slit his throat while shaving,” said Cersei.

* * *

 

Brienne only managed to extricate herself from the cloying pull of the Lannister twins when Tywin Lannister himself beckoned her over to introduce her to various members of the Neighbourhood Watch Alliance. “This is Mr Varys,” said Tywin, “the coordinator for Casterly’s Neighbourhood Watch.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” said Varys in an oily voice. When Brienne shook his hand, she realised he wore the most perfume of anyone she had ever met. “I hear Tywin has informed you of the hoodie infestation currently plaguing the High Street. I am sure that it is that young Arya Stark who is the ringleader, but who can blame the poor dear after what happened to her father, Sergeant Stark? She is just a nipper.”

Brienne furrowed her brow, “what happened to Sergeant Stark?”

However, her question was never answered as she was introduced to yet another Neighbourhood Watch Alliance member – a Petyr Baelish, the headteacher at a local girls’ grammar school. “Wonderful to meet you, Sergeant Tarth,” said Petyr, shaking her hand.

“And you.”

“I was wondering whether it would be possible for you to come and give a talk to the girls about careers in the Police Force?”

“Police _Service_ ,” corrected Brienne, “official guidelines state…”

“Of course, Service,” continued Petyr. “It would be great for the girls to see there are opportunities beyond being beauticians, and you will be a wonderful role model.”

“Thank you,” Brienne blushed, but before she could talk to Petyr about the opportunity further, Tywin rushed her over to another group of men; Doctor Qyburn, the local GP, Reverend Sparrow, the vicar of St Alysanne’s Parish Church, Mr Pycelle, the head librarian at the council library, and Meryn Trant, a farmer. When Meryn described where his farm was in some detail, Brienne thought it was best not to tell him that he might have to be on the lookout for an escaped swan.

_Another time…_

Once Tywin started having a conversation with the Reverend about Sunday services, Brienne found two minutes to say hello to Margaery, before the Chief Inspector commandeered her once more and marched her in the direction of a slender blond man who looked as nervous as she felt. They were joined once again by Cersei, Jaime, and the biggest man Brienne had ever seen, whom she hadn’t been introduced to.

“This is my nephew Lancel,” said Tywin, “he runs a florist over on the edge of town.”

“Lovely to meet you,” said Lancel, shaking Brienne’s hand, “I do everything. Roses, sunflowers, Japanese peace lilies…”

“I’ll be sure to keep you in mind,” said Brienne.

“And this,” said Cersei, redirecting Brienne’s attention away from Lancel, “is Gregor. We call him the Mountain because… well… he looks like a mountain. Say hello Gregor.”

“Yarp,” said Gregor.

Brienne looked a bit confused, but Cersei only tittered. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He hasn’t been able to say anything but yarp since he lost a fight with a viper several years ago and Dr Qyburn had to operate on him.”

Brienne felt too tired to ask.

“You and Gregor will get on like a house on fire, _wench_ ,” said Jaime quietly, “he can only communicate in mono-syllables too.”

She was about to snap back at him, when Margaery, the Hound, and Joff the German Shepherd came padding up to them, Margaery slightly out of breath.

“Chief,” said the Hound, “we’ve just found that bloody reporter Beric Dondarrion in the grounds again. Margaery gave chase, but he got away. We think he was heading in the direction of the village, so we might be able to find where he got in.”

A furious look came across Tywin’s face that made Brienne think she never wanted to cross him. “Damn,” he said, “we’ve still got some sort of weakness in our security. We’ve got to work out how he keeps getting in. Margaery, will you take me to where you last saw him? Sandor, can you go and round up Ilyn and the Robbs and search the perimeter with Joff? Cersei, Jaime, with me.”

Brienne had to say, she was very impressed with the way Tywin quickly gained control of his team and how he managed to deploy them with such speed. Oberyn had never been nearly so masterful in London. Jaime stopped smirking at Brienne and did what his father said instantly, while Cersei shot a nervous look at Lancel and the two of them followed Tywin outside.

As Tywin had left no instructions for Brienne herself, she decided to take a moment to herself, since she had always found party’s somewhat draining. Waiting until Jaime was out of sight, she swiped one of the champagne flutes from one of the waiters and headed out to the veranda which overlooked the gardens.

The view from the veranda was quite a sight to behold. Casterly Rock stood at the top of a hill that overlooked the village, so from here she could make out the I _nn at the Crossroads_ , _The White Stag_ and the police station. Closer to the house, she could see Margaery leading Tywin, Jaime, Cersei, Lancel and the Mountain in the direction of the reporter, as well as the Hound, Joff, Robb, Robb, and Ilyn scouting the perimeter. However, the closest people to her were two small children, enthusiastically bouncing on a trampoline just beyond the end of the veranda.

“Where is mummy going?” shouted the girl as she stopped jumping.

“I don’t know,” replied the boy, “and I don’t care. Keep bouncing, Myrcy, I want to get higher.”

Brienne watched them for a while, sipping her champagne, until she was interrupted.

“So, I see you caved to my brother’s demands to get yourself a drink.”

Jumping, she turned around to find a very small man standing behind her, with a wry smile on his lips that reminded her of Jaime. Like her, he too had a glass of champagne, but his was nearly finished. 

"Who are you?” she asked, suddenly forgetting her manners.

“Tyrion Lannister,” he smiled, holding out a hand to shake, which she took.

Brienne looked at him in surprise. Unlike Jaime and Cersei, who looked like they’d been created in a test tube by a scientist, Tyrion was all together more average looking, and only about four foot. “You’re Jaime and Cersei’s brother?”

He smiled, “yes, sergeant. Although can you not sound so shocked as you say it? Growing up as the less appealing sibling of Barbie and Ken has already given me a complex, I don’t need you adding to it.”

“Sorry…” she mumbled, suddenly feeling a type of kinship with this Lannister.

“Oh, don’t apologise,” he said, “you’ve got to be able to laugh about these things, otherwise you’d only cry.”

As Tyrion stepped forward and joined her in looking across the grounds, a peaceful silence descended between them that Brienne had never managed to cultivate with his brother.

“Who are the children?” Brienne eventually asked.

“That’s Tommen and Myrcella. They’re sweet kids, even though they are Cersei’s.”

She was surprised; Cersei hadn’t struck her as the maternal type.

“Do they live here?”

“No,” said Tyrion, taking a sip of the champagne, “they live with their Uncle Stannis in the village. When Cersei and Robert got divorced, Robert managed to persuade the courts that Cersei was a raging alcoholic who couldn’t be trusted with kids. He got sole custody, and after he died they went to live with his brother.”

“That’s terrible for her!”

Tyrion shrugged, “I mean… it’s not _untrue_. All us Lannisters share a weakness for the devil’s drink.”

The image of Jaime ploughing into a war memorial suddenly came to mind.

“Father’s got an arrangement with Stannis, though, that if he is present in the house, Cersei can see them.”

“At least there’s that…”

Tyrion laughed, “oh. I’m not so sure being alone in a house with my father and Cersei is such a great thing. Both Jaime and I ran away from it, after all.”

Brienne looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

Tyrion gave her a sad smile. “Well, I was never interested in Father’s plans for the supermarket, you see.” When a questioning expression crossed Brienne's face, he continued.

“What you’ve got to understand about my father is that he is a shrewdly intelligent man. Ruthless, but intelligent. My father was able to work his way up the police service while managing the store along with my Uncle Kevan. He wanted Jaime and I to follow him and Kevan into partnership, but I couldn’t think of anything more dull than managing a supermarket. So, I defied him and went to Cambridge to do a PhD in Modern Ballistics and Arms, my true passion."

Brienne gasped, and that seemed to please Tyrion.

"Father disowned me when I went to work for the Ministry of Defence, and I was only let back into the fold a few years ago when I returned to Casterly and set up my Modern Armoury Museum, which you are welcome to come visit anytime. My father thought I was finally bringing glory to the Lannister name, I suppose.”

She thought of Tywin Lannister, who seemed to be hiding a spine of steel.

“What about Jaime?” she asked.

Tyrion’s eyes were overcome by a misty affection when he started talking about his brother. “Jaime grew up watching my father doing his police work and wanted nothing more than to follow in his footsteps. But as his blessed son and heir, my father had always intended Jaime for the supermarket. Jaime tried to rationalise it that he could do both, but he doesn’t have my father’s capacity for playing mind games on four different levels.”

Tyrion took a sip of his champagne. “It all went horribly wrong when Uncle Kevan died when Jaime and Cersei were eighteen. Father was convinced that Jaime should take Kevan’s place on the board of _Lannisters_ , but Jaime refused and ended up going to Manchester for police training. Our darling father only invited him back into the family circle when he came back from Manchester three years ago, suitably chastised, but by then it was too late. I’d refused the position on the board as well, so father had been forced to install Cersei, who had always desperately wanted it. My father is not too happy with the arrangement; he knows how temperamental Cersei can be.”

Brienne let Tyrion’s story sink in for a moment. It seemed fantastical, almost unbelievable.

“Jaime _wanted_ to be a police officer?” said Brienne, astonished. She thought of the many years she'd dreamed of being a member of the Police Service, and could not imagine Jaime ever having a similar ambition.

“I always assumed that he just signed up because that was his dad’s ambition for him.” She grasped around, trying to make sense of it all. “But then why does he seem so…” The words didn’t come.

“Cynical? Bitter?” supplied Tyrion. “That’s a story he has to tell you, I think.”

Brienne looked out into the gardens, where she could see Jaime’s blond head in the distance. For the first time, she wondered if there was more to him than met the eye.

“Do you have siblings?” asked Tyrion.

Brienne poked at the little bit of sadness in her heart. “Yes. I had a brother, Galladon. He drowned when he was eight.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Tyrion.

“It was all a very long time ago now.”

“But still,” said Tyrion, “the joys and tears that our siblings can bring us, eh?”

She smiled wistfully, “indeed.”

They stayed for a few more minutes, until the people searching the garden began to return in the direction of the house.

“It’s been nice to talk to you, Sergeant Tarth,” said Tyrion. “Please do think on my offer of coming to the Armoury Museum sometime.”

“I will. It sounds just my sort of thing.”

“I’ll see you around,” said Tyrion, heading back into the house.

“Bye.”

She decided to cherish the silence left by Tyrion for a few minutes more, using the time to think on what he had said about his brother. Had Jaime really wanted to be a police officer? Defied his father for it? Why then did he now act as if it were all a joke?

_And why do I care so much?_

Pushing the thoughts aside, she glugged down the last bit of champagne and went back into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although I couldn't cram Mr Peter Ian Staker into this chapter, I just wanted to pay homage to my absolute favourite running joke in Hot Fuzz - THE SWAN! Jaime's reaction was inspired by Danny's half-hearted honks when they go and look for the swan in the park :D
> 
> This chapter was also a bit of an info dump, so I hope it wasn't too long for you. But there are important secrets to build up, and all good mysteries have to start somewhere...
> 
> Next time... Jaime and Brienne get their first proper case since Brienne's move to Casterly...


	5. The Onion Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne are given their very first case since becoming partners. Can they work as a team?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh I am still slightly in shock at how everyone seems to be enjoying this crazy AU of mine! Please keep leaving comments and kudos to let me know how I'm doing, they give me all the inspiration I need :D

Brienne’s first month in Casterly was characterised by four ongoing developments.

The first was the ever continuing saga of the escaped swan. In spite of Jaime’s valiant efforts to reach out to the distressed bird, nobody had managed to catch him, although he would occasionally pop up on CCTV from time to time, almost as if to spite them.

The second was Brienne’s growing friendship with Margaery. About two weeks into her new job, Margaery had asked Brienne if she wanted to come with her to play bingo down at the old church hall. Margaery’s grandmother, Olenna, was the teller there, and although Margaery vehemently denied that Olenna had rigged the system, it was amazing how often Margaery won. After playing bingo, they would often go down to the Inn at the Crossroads. Brienne would get a cranberry juice, while Margaery would have a _Sex on the Beach_ , and bide their time teasing Pod and commiserating over the difficulties of being a woman in a male dominated industry. They had become so close that Brienne had even agreed to go to Longleat with her on their next bank holiday.

Brienne had surprised herself. For the first time in a long time, she felt she had a friend.

The third was Brienne’s ever deepening crush on Renly. Even though Tywin had eventually found her a nice flat on the edge of the village, Brienne was loathe to leave _The White Stag_ , but she wouldn’t tell anyone that it was because she would miss seeing Renly’s beautiful face every day. Eventually, Margaery insisted on helping Brienne move into her new flat, because she couldn’t live the rest of her life in a hotel.

“Hey Brienne,” said Margaery cheerily, barging through the door of Brienne’s room in _The White Stag_ armed with a couple of moving boxes on the designated moving day. “I thought you could do with some friends to help.”

And that led to the fourth constant.

“Good afternoon, wench.”

Jaime Lannister driving Brienne absolutely mental every single day of her damn life. 

"What are you doing here?” stammered Brienne.

“Margaery said you needed some help moving, and I’ve got nothing better to do on a Sunday afternoon other than come and make you blush.”

As if on cue, she blushed in annoyance, and Jaime grinned wickedly at her.

To her surprise, Brienne had acquired a lot of new things during her time in Casterly. She had been down the arcades a couple of times with Margaery and won a few prizes, and her debacle with her choice of outfit at the NWA party meant she had bought many new clothes. Therefore, it was decided that Margaery and Brienne would cover the main bedroom, while Jaime would pack up in the bathroom.

“Do you want to take these complimentary soaps?” shouted Jaime.

“No,” insisted Brienne, “I’m a police officer. I don’t steal.”

Jaime stuck his head out from behind the bathroom door. “I’m sure the Pope himself has stolen some complimentary soap from a hotel.”

“I don’t care. I am an officer of the law.”

Jaime shrugged and disappeared back into the bathroom.

He then clearly decided it would be hysterical to list everything in her bathroom to her, just to make sure she didn’t accidentally steal anything.

“Is this loofah yours?”

“Yes.”

“What about this toilet plunger?”

“No.”

“This box of extra-absorbent tampons?”

When Margaery snickered, Brienne threw down her _Juicy_ tracksuit bottoms and marched into the bathroom, wrenching the box of tampons out of Jaime’s hand.

“That’s none of your goddamn business.”

He laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

* * *

 

Apart from the excitement of her move into her new flat, nothing much else happened for the next couple of weeks, other than the usual. Consequently, Brienne often found herself trapped in a car with Jaime, parked in the High Street, listening to Jaime’s opinions on the most eclectic variety of topics.

“Wench, do you think that black holes are just very hangry stars?”

“Wench, do you think beavers are just very confused sloths?”

“Wench, how long do you think it would take us to drive the entire way around the equator if you were driving and we had to follow all the speed limits to the letter?”

Brienne also found she had started to cave to Jaime’s demands for ice cream in the afternoons. Consequently, on the day their first proper assignment came through, both herself and Jaime were busy scoffing two _Nobbly-Bobblys_. Just as Brienne had licked her stick clean, the car radio suddenly kicked into life. It was Tywin, with a request.

“Just had a call from Masha Heddle down at _The Inn_. It seems she’s had some onions stolen, and wants help locating them.”

Jaime sighed, but Brienne said, “on it, sir.”

With one quick flick of her wrist she had turned the siren on, engaged the lights, put the car into first gear, and started bombing it down the street, every inch the action hero. When they finally stopped outside the pub, about twenty five metres down the road from where they had started, Brienne pulled the car to a halt and turned everything off. She turned to Jaime, who smirked at her.

“That was the most hardcore bit of precision driving I’ve ever seen in my life, wench,” he said sarcastically.

“Oh, shut up and just get out the car.”

On arrival at the pub, they found Pod behind the bar.

“Masha’s down in the cellar,” he said, “I think she’s freaking out a bit. She’s never had anything stolen before.”

“Thanks Pod,” said Brienne, placing a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I would sit down and relax if I were you. PC Lannister and I will take things from here.”

As Jaime and Brienne walked over to the stairs leading down to the cellar, Jaime said, “you know, the other night when I was in here Pod was talking about how much he wanted to be a police officer. He said he was inspired by your actions your first night here.”

Brienne found herself blushing. Why was Jaime telling her this?

“That’s sweet,” she mumbled, “and what did you say to that?”

“I said you were more _RoboCop_ than ordinary police officer. I told him if he wanted to see a real copper in action, he’d have to look at me.”

Brienne raised her eyebrows. “I hope Pod laughed in your face.”

Masha Heddle was down in the cellar, looking round at the emptiness as if she were surprised to see it.

“Ms Heddle,” said Brienne, “my name is Sergeant Brienne Tarth, and this is PC Jaime Lannister.”

Masha turned to them. “I know who you are. That one drinks me out of house and home every week.” She pointed at Jaime with a ferocious look on her face. Brienne got the impression that Masha had seen so many of his drunken antics that she didn’t fully believe he was capable of pursuing this case with rationality and a clear mind.

As Jaime looked slightly scared, Brienne continued, “Ms Heddle, my colleague has informed me that you have contacted the police over your fears about some property you think has been stolen. Can you please tell me what happened?”

Brienne got her notebook out and began to take notes. She only noticed Jaime copying her a few moments later, when he balanced his notebook on her shoulder in order to write with his left hand.

“Oh,” said Masha, “I know it has been stolen. The other day Our Willow told me I didn’t have to keep trekking down to buy my fresh produce from Lannisters, I could order it online.” Masha paused, “are you writing this down?”

“Yes,” said Brienne and Jaime in unison, but Brienne could see that Jaime had only written the word ONIONS at the top of his page in the world’s worst hand writing.

“So I says to Our Willow that I was a bit worried, because I didn’t want to accidentally end up on the dark web and buy several tons of cocaine by mistake.”

“I think that’s pretty unlikely,” said Jaime, dryly.

“Was I talking to you PC Lannister?” said Masha, “I’m telling my story to Sergeant Tarth, thank you very much.”

Brienne gave Jaime a small shove in the ribs as if to tell him to keep quiet and let her handle it. “Please continue, Ms Heddle.”

“So, I listened to Our Willow, I did, and she got me one of those _iPat_ thingies and showed me what to do. The first time I attempted it on my own I got a bit distracted, as it kept telling me there were lots of young single men in the local area who wished to meet me for no strings attached sex.”

Jaime choked.

“I’m sorry, PC Lannister? Do you think life ends at sixty?” snapped Masha, indignant. “My last boyfriend dumped me because he couldn’t keep up.”

“No… no…” said Jaime, desperately trying to keep a straight face, “I’m sure you have a very active and healthy sex life, Ms Heddle.”

Brienne was getting a little irritated by this, so she shot Jaime a look that told him to _behave_. “Ms Heddle, could you please tell me about the items that were stolen?”

“Oh yes,” said Masha. “I went on that online thing that Our Willow told me about and went to order some onions. Masha’s pies are famous around here and they need a lot of onions to give the gravy that special tang. Have you tried one of my pies, Sergeant Tarth?”

“I’ve not had the pleasure,” said Brienne. She shot Jaime a wary look. If he said anything else, they could be here for the next five years before they ever found out the details of the case.

“I clicked on the little arrow, I did, but because I didn’t have my glasses on, instead of typing a hundred onions, I typed ten _thousand_ onions, and Lannisters wouldn’t let me return them because they’d had to hire a JCB to deliver them. It’s put me out by fifteen thousand pounds.”

An incredulous silence dropped in the room.

“So,” said Brienne, “you’re telling me that you accidentally spent fifteen thousand pounds on onions?”

“Yes!”

Jaime couldn’t help himself. “Did you happen to buy these onions on the dark web along with the cocaine?”

It was only then that Masha burst into tears, “Sergeant Tarth! I am the _victim_ here and your partner seems to be accusing me of being some kind of drug smuggler!”

“No, Ms Heddle, I assure you PC Lannister is not accusing you of being a drug smuggler. He just thinks he’s funny when he’s clearly not.”

Jaime smiled, nodding at Ms Heddle. Brienne continued. “What were your plans for these onions?”

“Well, my grandmother taught me a way of making onions last for years, so I just decided to keep them stored down in the cellar until I needed them. I would have started by making a batch of pies today.”

“But you didn’t?” said Brienne.

“No. Yesterday afternoon, I had to go and pick my granddaughter up from rehearsals they are doing for that play down at the civic centre, so I had to leave early, but when I left here I told the others I would leave the onions in the basement and deal with them tomorrow. I locked the cellar door, but when I came back this morning, they were all gone.”

Brienne wrote that down. “And are you the only one with a key to the cellar?”

“No,” Masha said, “some of the bar staff do. Our Willow does, in case of emergency, but she’s currently in Australia. Pod does too – he’s upstairs if you want to talk to him. The last person with a key is Davos, but he’s not in today. He’s at home complaining of a stomach ache.”

Brienne jotted that down – _Davos Seaworth complaining of stomach ache._

“When did Mr Seaworth let you know he wasn’t feeling well?”

“This morning,” said Masha, “just as I was walking here.”

Brienne nodded. “Do you happen to have an address for Mr Seaworth? We will have to question everyone who has a key to the cellar.”

“Yes,” said Masha, “Ever since his wife died he’s lived over in Lannisport with an old school friend of his – Salla Something. I’ve got the full address upstairs.”

“Thank you, Ms Heddle. You can trust us to get on to this investigation right away,” said Brienne.

Masha looked at Brienne, “well I can trust _you_. I’m not so sure about PC Lannister over here.”

* * *

 

As they walked back up to the bar, Brienne informed Jaime of the plan. They would question Pod, and then go find Davos Seaworth.

“But he lives all the way over in Lannisport,” whined Jaime, “that’s a half an hour drive. Is it worth going all the way there for a couple of onions?”

“Ten _thousand_ onions,” corrected Brienne, “and Masha is very upset. If we can find out who did this, we can give her a sense of closure and justice.” Jaime’s objections suddenly made Brienne think of the conversation she’d had with Tyrion the night of the NWA Party. “Your brother Tyrion told me that you once defied your father to become a police officer. Why would you do that unless it was a belief in doing the right thing?”

Jaime’s expression suddenly darkened. “I wouldn’t listen to Tyrion if I were you. He has a tendency to talk a lot of crap.”

Brienne could tell that what she had said had touched a nerve with Jaime and, wanting to keep going with the investigation, she changed the subject. “Look, let’s get on with the job. We’ll start by questioning Pod and then go and talk to Davos.”

“Okay.”

Unfortunately, the questioning of Podrick Payne took longer than anticipated, because once Brienne had pinned down his exact movements that morning, it seemed the young barman just wanted to ask her about the finer points of policing.

“Have you ever fired two guns while jumping through the air?”

“No.”

“Have you ever fired _one_ gun while jumping through the air?”

“No.”

“Ever been in a high-speed pursuit?”

“No,” said Brienne, as Jaime chimed in with “Yes.”

Pod looked starstruck. Jaime looked excited that he had done something that Brienne hadn’t.

“Have you ever fired a gun whilst in a high speed pursuit?” asked Pod.

Jaime’s smile dimmed. “No, it never got that exciting.”

Pod looked a little disappointed, so he turned back to Brienne. “Ever fired your gun in the air and yelled, ‘Aaaaaah?’”

“No.”

“Is it true that there’s a point on a man’s head where if you shoot it, it will blow up?”

Brienne raised her eyebrow, “why the hell would you think that?”

Podrick shrugged. “I saw it in a film once.”

Brienne huffed. “Mr Payne, do you have anything else to say about this case, or are you just going to ask me silly questions?” Pod blushed, so Brienne decided to press her advantage. “Did you see anything suspicious last night?”

Pod paused and then said, “well, Davos was acting a bit strange. It was lucky we had a quiet night, because he left me to deal with a lot of the punters and spent much of the evening on the phone. Just before we closed, his housemate Salladhor Saan turned up and then Davos told me to go home, assuring me that he would lock up.”

"For Christ’s sake,” said Jaime, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What’s the matter?” said Brienne.

“We’ve been here an hour and somebody has only just thought it relevant to tell us that Salladhor Saan was here last night?”

Brienne looked confused. “Who is Salladhor Saan?”

“He’s a small time petty criminal,” said Jaime. “He makes his money selling hookie gear at the local market, claiming it all _honestly fell of the back of a lorry_. We’ve never been able to nail him for anything because he’s such a sneaky bugger.”

Brienne turned to Pod, “and you are telling me that he’s Davos’ housemate?”

Pod nodded and went back to cleaning glasses.

Jaime turned to Brienne. “Well, wench,” he said, “it looks like we’ve got ourselves a lead.”

For once, Brienne agreed with him. “Let’s go back to the station, get a search warrant for Davos and Salla’s house, and then head out.”

* * *

 

In spite of the fact the drive to Lannisport was only half an hour, it felt the longest of Brienne’s life as Jaime insisted on backseat driving.

“Hurry up, wench,” he said, “this road is national speed limit. Why are we crawling along at forty?”

“This is a windy country lane. I want to make sure to keep an eye out for unexpected pedestrians and wildlife. We are not far from Exmoor after all.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “If some person, or pheasant, is stupid enough to be strolling along this road at this time of day, they deserve their fate.”

Lannisport was bigger than Casterly, and as it was getting dark, it took a little while to find Black Betha Road where Davos lived. They eventually found him in one of the little terrace houses at the end of the road.

“Well, that’s not suspicious at all,” said Jaime, pointing at the huge JCB parked on Davos’ drive. Brienne remembered that Masha had told them Lannisters had delivered the onions to her originally in such a vehicle.

Brienne went first and knocked three times on the front door. She had been expecting Davos to answer, but the man who appeared at the door was a tall black guy in a gaudy Hawaiian shirt. Brienne surmised this must be Salladhor Saan.

“Yes,” he said, “can I help?”

“Mr Saan,” said Brienne, getting out her badge. “I am Sergeant Brienne Tarth of the Casterly Constabulary and this is PC Jaime Lannister. We have a search warrant for this property due to a case of suspected theft.”

Salla looked at Brienne, then at Jaime, then back at Brienne again, as if weighing them up.

Then, he made his move.

Bundling into Brienne, Salla tried to charge for freedom but he only got half way down the garden path before Jaime was on him. The two men grappled with each other and, spying a weakness, Salla went for Jaime’s prosthetic hand. Yet Jaime seemed to know exactly what to do. He drew back, causing Salla to take a swing at him. While Salla was exposed, Jaime used his vulnerability, rugby tackling him to ground.

Brienne thought it was all strangely graceful.

“Salladhor Saan,” said Jaime. “I am arresting you on suspicion of theft. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.” Jaime hauled Salla to his feet in order to put him in handcuffs (which Brienne found very impressive considering Jaime only had one hand).

“Fuck you, Lannister,” said Salla, “you little posh boy. Who are you to arrest me? I’m real salt of the earth working class, me, one of the people!”

“If you stand for the people,” said Brienne, “would you care to explain why you stole off Ms Heddle? A sixty-year-old publican who was set to lose nearly fifteen thousand pounds due to your actions?”

Salla at least had the good grace to look a little shame faced at this, but still went to object.

“Just get in the car, Salla,” said Jaime, pushing his shoulders so the man was forced to walk towards the car. Once Jaime had locked Salladhor in the back of the police car, he returned to Brienne and said, “shall we go and find Davos then?”

Once inside 4 Black Betha Road, Jaime and Brienne immediately turned into the lounge, where they found what they were looking for.

“I make that ten thousand onions,” said Jaime.

“Yes,” said Brienne, “I agree.”

Just at that moment, they heard someone padding down the stairs.

“For fuck sake, Salla, how long does it take to answer the bloody door?”

Davos gave a start as he turned into the lounge and saw Brienne and Jaime waiting for him.

“Mr Seaworth,” said Brienne, “would you care to explain why you have ten thousand onions piled up in your lounge?”

Davos looked at his feet, fiddling with his shirt. It was clear he was trying to think of something, anything, that would get him out of this predicament. He only looked back up at her when something had dawned on him.

“Would you believe,” he asked slowly, “that my cousin is visiting from France and has requested I make a hell of a lot of French onion soup?”

Jaime and Brienne shook their heads in unison.

“No,” said Jaime. “No, we wouldn’t.”

It was Brienne’s turn. “Davos Seaworth, I am arresting you on suspicion of theft. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

Davos bobbed his head, knowing he was well and truly caught, and submitted to his arrest without a fight. Brienne pulled out her handcuffs and quickly fitted them around Davos’ wrists.

“Oh wench,” mumbled Jaime, “who knew you were so handy with your handcuffs? You should try them on me sometime.”

“No,” she said, not wanting to get into this with him of all people, “you’d just cheat and take off your prosthetic.”

* * *

 

“You did great today, wench,” said Jaime, as they drove back to Casterly with Davos and Salla in the back of the car.

She tried not to blush, but she couldn’t help it. “Thanks.” People had so rarely congratulated her in London.

“If I was there on my own, I’d have killed myself and most of the village to avoid any more stories of Masha Heddle’s adventures on the dark web.”

Brienne chuckled. “You didn’t do too bad yourself,” she said, snatching his notebook from him while he was too busy looking at her, “I saw you making notes. That’s the sort of thing a police officer who cares does.”

Her little hope in Jaime’s intentions was quickly burst, however, when she saw Jaime had only written four short phrases down in his notebook:

_Onions._

_No strings attached sex._

_The wench has never shot a gun while shouting “Aaaaahh!”_

_French soup._

“Oh,” said Brienne sarcastically, “I see you’ve recorded all the vital details that will enable us to process Mr Saan and Mr Seaworth quickly and effectively.”

“Don’t you have a go at me, Sergeant Tarth, you’re the one currently reading and driving. I hear that’s illegal in some jurisdictions.”

“Along with fun,” she quipped.

He smiled. “Speaking of fun, do you want to come out for a drink with me? I mean, I reckon I’m barred from _The Inn at the Crossroads_ for life, but we could go somewhere else? Does Renly have a bar at _The White Stag_?”

“Sorry,” she said, suddenly feeling a little awkward, “I’m going to play bingo with Margaery and her grandma tonight. Maybe some other time.”

“Are you trying to tell me you would rather go out with _Margaery Tyrell_ and her octogenarian grandmother than me, your plucky police partner?”

Brienne snorted. “Any day of the week. Neither Margaery or Olenna are total twats with an over inflated sense of their own wit.”

Jaime deflated slightly. “Oh… well… maybe some other time.”

“Yeah. Some other time.”

In the windscreen, Brienne could see that Salla was rolling his eyes.

“For fuck’s sake, Lannister,” he muttered, “your game is terrible.”

Both Jaime and Brienne pretended they hadn’t heard that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter doesn't really have a parallel in the film, but I thought we needed a little bit more time to settle the characters in before we start throwing them into all the mysteries Casterly has to offer. Think of this and the next few chapters as the "policing montage" we get near the beginning!
> 
> I also wanted to do a chapter that was almost pure J/B bickering, so I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> PS. Yes, I gave Pod Danny's stupid questions from the film, and no I don't feel bad about it :D
> 
> Next time... Jaime and Brienne's usual patrol doesn't go *exactly* as planned...


	6. Three Packs of Milky Stars, Two Lion Bars, and a Curly Wurly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gives a speech, Jaime reveals his childhood crush, and an intriguing mystery emerges...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm literally overflowing with inspiration at the moment given all your lovely comments and kudos. It keeps me writing (and keeps me young), so please keep them coming!

Brienne had never been asked to give a speech before, especially at a school, so she felt a burst of pride when Mr Baelish emailed her to ask if she was still interested in giving his students a lecture on careers in policing. She had never thought that someone would be interested in hearing her experience and knowledge; nobody ever had in London.

She told the Chief about it one day when she got back from her shift with Jaime. “I’m thinking of calling it _The Modern Woman: A Career in the Police Service_. It won’t be the usual type of talk; I’ll try to cater it for the girls specifically and make them realise that the police has a place for them. Mr Baelish is suggesting Friday morning, is that possible?”

The Chief thought about it for a moment before saying, “yes. That should be fine. I’ll take you off the rota for the morning. Why don’t you take Margaery with you? It will be good for the girls to see that we have more than one woman working for us here at the Casterly Constabulary.”

Jaime piped up at that point, “but won’t that then leave three officers off duty? Who is going to do the patrols?”

Tywin looked at his son. “ _You’re_ not going with them. You can do a patrol with the Hound.”

Jaime looked a little affronted at that. “Why not? I’m her partner and I want to hear her give her speech.”

Brienne turned to him. “Why are you so interested? Are you a modern woman looking for a career in the Police Service?”

“No…” he said, thinking about his reply, “but…”

“You will go on patrol with the Hound,” said Tywin, “criminals never sleep."

* * *

 

Although it was decided that Brienne would do most of the talking, she co-ordinated with Margaery to make sure she had as wide a variety of opinions on what life was like for women in the service. Margaery seemed to be full of stories about superiors wanting to get in her pants in exchange for promotion. Brienne had never had that problem.

The speech went off without a hitch and they got a variety of insightful questions from the girls. The only slightly dicey moment was when Mr Baelish shut down Arya Stark’s inquisition about whether Brienne and Margaery had ever had to fight anybody.

“I’m good at fighting,” insisted Arya, “I could be a great policewoman.”

“Police _officer_ ,” Brienne corrected, “and it is not all about fighting. As a police officer you are there, first and foremost, to serve your community. And your community is as much about victims and bystanders as perpetrators, and sometimes perpetrators are victims themselves. The most important quality a police officer can possess is empathy; not just for those who are affected by crime, but those who commit it too.”

Brienne that thought that her answer would have given Arya some food for thought, but Arya would not relent, saying having too much empathy could sometimes be a problem. When Arya refused to halt her line of argument, it resulted in Baelish kicking Arya out of the assembly, and her flipping him off for good measure.

After they’d finished the talk, Brienne and Margaery had a couple of photos taken for the local paper, with the girls standing behind them.

“Hi, I’m Beric Dondarrion. Quick snap for the Casterly Citizen?” said the rugged reporter. It took Brienne a while to place him, but then Brienne recalled that he must be the reporter that Tywin suspected of trespassing on the grounds of Casterly Rock on the night of the NWA party.

“Ok,” she said, “but be quick about it. We must get back to work.”

She didn’t mean to be rude to Beric, it was just that Brienne didn’t make the most beautiful of subjects for a photo and having her photo taken always made her self-conscious.

“Let’s try and make this photo more _natural_ , shall we Sergeant Tarth?” said Beric. He paused. “Oh, I know, how about if you put the teacher in handcuffs?”

“I’m not sure that gives off the right signals,” said Brienne.

“Give the little blond kid your hat?”

“I’d rather not.”

Beric shrugged. “Wave your hitting stick about?”

“No!” Brienne huffed.

After Brienne and Margaery had taken the most awkward photos in the history of womankind, Mr Baelish escorted them back to his office where he had made them leave their bags when they first arrived. Margaery went to sort out her make up in the mirror.

“Apart from the little psycho in the audience and the deranged reporter,” she said, “I think that went well.”

“Yes, I agree,” Brienne said, getting her phone out of her bag. She had 136 messages from Jaime. As expected, they veered from the sublime to the ridiculous.

 _Jaime:_ I can’t believe you left me with the Hound. He talks to Joff more than he does to me.

 _Jaime:_           If a bear and a lion had a fight, who do you think would win?

 _Jaime:_           Wench, I miss you. I hope the talk is going well.

When Brienne and Margaery returned to the station around midday, they found Jaime and the Hound sitting in the staff room eating sandwiches.

“Thank fuck you are back, Margaery,” said the Hound. “Lannister over here has been driving me crazy. Tarth, I’m surprised you haven’t killed him yet.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Brienne, “I’ve nearly reached that point.”

Jaime ignored the Hound and said, “wench, I got you a sandwich. I thought you might be hungry.”

He pulled out a crayfish and rocket sandwich from _Waitrose_ , because of course he’d been to _Waitrose_ and not got a meal deal from _Lannisters_  like everyone else did.

“Thanks,” said Brienne, sitting down next to him as she opened the packet.

“Was it an eventful morning?” asked Margaery.

“No,” growled the Hound, “we just sat in the car while Lannister over here kept asking me stupid questions about who would win in a fight between squirrels and otters.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” said Brienne, turning to Jaime, “as for who would win in a fight between a lion and a bear, my answer is the bear. Lions are lazy buggers, they let the lionesses do all the work.”

* * *

 

That afternoon, Brienne and Jaime found themselves sat in the car parked in a little square just off the High Street. Jaime was doubled over, laughing, trying to eat a _Terry’s Chocolate Orange_.

“What’s so funny?” sulked Brienne.

“Your first screen crush was Robin Hood, _that_ is what is so funny, wench. He was an animated fox! What did you see in him?”

Brienne went bright red. “I don’t know, he just had something about him I suppose.”

Jaime just about recovered himself to choke, “what does he have that I don’t?”

“Well, a green hat and a great big bushy tail to start with,” she said, finding herself being pulled into Jaime’s laughter. “If you find that so hysterical, who was your first onscreen crush?”

Jaime snorted. “I’m not telling you that.”

“Why?” asked Brienne, “I’ve told you mine. It’s only fair.”

He suddenly went a little red. “It wasn’t quite a crush, per se…”

“Right…”

“More an infatuation.”

“Right… I think that’s even worse than a crush but continue.”

He looked at her for a moment before closing his eyes and saying. “Miss Trunchbull from _Matilda_.”

It was Brienne’s turn to choke. “How can you make fun of me for fancying Robin Hood when you fancied _Miss Trunchbull_. She was a sadist!”

“And she was an Olympic medallist in shotput, javelin, and hammer throw!”

It was Brienne’s turn to crumple up with laughter. “And is that what you look for in a woman?” she laughed, “athletic achievement?”

“No,” he beamed, “she just always seemed really strong and in control. All the other women on kid’s TV were too busy singing out of their tower windows wishing that _one day their prince would come_. She just got on with her life and did what she had to do, even if that was throwing children over fences. I liked that about her.”

“You are so weird,” said Brienne.

Jaime smiled, but just as he was about to say something, there was an almighty shout from out in the street.

“Oi! Stop thief!” The shout came from a woman who had just come out of the Lannisters convenience shop on the corner, dressed in the company uniform. She was pointing at a girl in a hoodie who had just come dashing out of the shop and was now running down the road.

Jaime and Brienne were out of the car before either of them had mentioned it to the other. Despite the fact he’d shovelled down half a Terry’s Chocolate Orange only moments before, Jaime was full scale sprinting across the square, and even vaulted over a bollard instead of going around it.

 _Right,_ thought Brienne, _two can play at this game, PC Lannister._

There was no way she was going to let him beat her in a race to get to the shoplifter. If he did, he would be bragging about it for the next year, and she couldn’t have that. Picking up her pace, she soon found she had caught up with Jaime, and he shot her a smile that seemed to say _try me, wench_.

Brienne tried to give him a look that said _come at me_ , but in truth she felt a little bit unsure. In the same way as he did everything else, Jaime was very graceful runner. It seemed so odd to her; Renly was elegant in a way that totally matched his suave personality. On the other hand, Jaime’s grace seemed a total contrast to who he was as a person, which was all sarcasm and ridiculous questions.

As they kept going, she deduced the longer she continued eye contact with him the slower he went, which allowed her to overtake him and get several paces ahead. That extra bit of distance soon meant that she found herself almost upon the shoplifter. At that moment, the girl shot a look over her shoulder. Although she had her hood up and a scarf pulled up to her nose, Brienne thought there was no mistaking those grey eyes.

_Is that… Arya Stark?_

Brienne’s surprise meant that when the girl took a sharp right, Brienne skidded past her and wasted valuable seconds. Jaime, too, was wrong footed, and consequently crashed straight into her, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Jaime stuck his arms out, wrapping them around Brienne’s waist, so when they fell he hit the ground first and she headbutted his chest. Momentarily winded, Brienne tried to get up, but that just left her straddling Jaime.

“Get off me wench,” he growled, a mocking smile on his lips, “we’ve got a shoplifter to catch.”

Noticing the goading look in his eye, she leapt off him quicker than if he had burned her. A furious blush overcame her, and she didn’t stop staring at him until he got to his feet and muttered, “catch me if you can!” With that, he dashed off around the corner, and Brienne could only follow in his wake.

They soon emerged in Highgarden Avenue, the long street that led to Casterly’s park. Even from their vantage point at the end of the street, Brienne could see the girl entering the park, almost knocking over an old lady as she ran through the gate. Jaime picked up his pace again, and even though her head now hurt, Brienne tore after him, determined not to be left behind. She didn’t catch him until she went through the park gate, and found Jaime standing there looking around confusedly.

“Where is the shop lifter?” she asked, gasping for breath.

“I don’t know, you were chasing her!”

“So were you!”

A guilty expression appeared on Jaime’s face. “No actually, wench, in all honesty I was just racing you.”

“Are you five years old?” she shouted, “this is a serious…”

Before she could vent anymore, Jaime had pointed along the path. “There she is!”

The run had also obviously been tough on the shoplifter, as she was leaning against a wall catching her breath, clearly thinking she had lost them. Neither Jaime nor Brienne missed their chance. The two of them dashed in her direction, and they were only a couple of feet away from her when she noticed and started to scramble away from them again. Despite the long run, the speed and determination that Jaime had used when arresting Salladhor Saan suddenly came to the foreground and he managed to catch up with her. However, just as Jaime managed to get his hand on her, she turned around, and punched him square in the nose.

“Oh fuck!” She wasn’t done, however, as just as he was recovering from her punch, the girl kneed him in the balls and slipped past him.

Jaime dropped like a sack of potatoes.

“Jaime!” In spite of her desire to follow the shoplifter, she knew she couldn’t leave her partner lying on the floor. Brienne stopped chasing the girl in order to check Jaime was okay. “Jaime!” said Brienne, dropping to her knees beside him. “Are you all right?”

It rapidly became very clear that Jaime Lannister was not all right. After adopting the foetal position for a good minute, he just began to writhe on the floor, so Brienne offered him what she hoped was a consoling pat on the shoulder.

For the next five minutes Jaime continued to lay there, silently, his eyes pressed closed.

“Is this what it takes to shut you up?” smiled Brienne, “someone to kick you in the nuts?”

“Be quiet, wench,” he moaned, “there’s no pain like it in the world.”

“I was stabbed through the hand by a Father Christmas once,” she said, “I’m sure there is.”

After a few more minutes of theatrical writhing, Brienne had come to the conclusion that Jaime was just milking it for its dramatic potential.

“Jaime, we still have another fifteen minutes on duty. What are you doing?”

“I’m dying,” he groaned.

“You can’t die from being kicked in the balls. And anyway, you need to live.”

“Why?”

“If this was a movie, I’d tell you _revenge_ , but the real reason is I’ll have a lot of explaining to do to your father when I get back to the station if it turns out his son and heir can’t give him grandchildren.”

Jaime nodded. “Alright. Help me up, will you?”

As the shoplifter was now nowhere to be seen, Brienne crouched down, allowing him to loop his arm around her shoulders. Without much effort, she stood up, bringing him with her. She’d never been this close to Jaime before, and was surprised how physically solid his body felt. Before, he’d always seemed graceful, almost delicate, to her.

“God, wench,” said Jaime, “you are _strong_. My ex Taena used to claim she couldn’t pick up her handbag without help, and you could probably put me in a fireman’s lift and carry me out of a burning building without much effort.”

Brienne blushed a blotchy, embarrassed red. She was proud of her strength, but at the same time had spent a lifetime being made fun of by men for it and didn’t like Jaime of all people bringing it up.

Jaime obviously noticed something in her expression as he said, “it was a compliment, wench. Learn to take one.”

“I don’t know. It feels pretty on the edge.”

Jaime grew insistent. “It’s a _compliment_. It’s a good thing you are strong – sometimes it’s the difference between life and death.”

Brienne suddenly became very aware of how close she was to Jaime, so she moved away.

“Wench, you can’t leave me like this. I’m _injured_.”

“I’m not leaving you. I just think you are a grown man who can take care of himself.”

Jaime pouted, so Brienne relented slightly and took hold of his arm, directing him back to the car. He didn’t seem to mind that.

* * *

 

By the time they got back to the car it was 6:05pm, the end of their working day. As Jaime sat in the passenger’s seat, he said, “come on wench, it’s the end of our shift, and I’ve been kneed in the bollocks. That, more than anything, means I deserve a drink.”

“But we can’t go yet,” said Brienne, “we have to go to _Lannisters_.”

“Why?” Jaime sighed.

“We have to tell your sister that we failed to catch the perpetrator, but we will continue to do our utmost to discover who it was.”

Even though Jaime looked highly disinterested, Brienne decided to keep her private suspicion that they should be hunting Arya Stark to herself.

“I could tell her that when Tyrion tries to organise another one of his inevitable family bonding dinners,” Jaime said. “It would be much more fun to go to the pub.”

“I’m sure it would be,” said Brienne, “but we have a duty.”

Brienne started the car and the began insistently in the direction of the _Lannisters_ superstore where Cersei was based. The whole way there, Jaime kept waxing lyrical about the virtues of _The Inn at the Crossroads_. “They have a great selection of beer – although their wine menu is a little bit basic – and on Friday’s they put their spread of Real Ale on. They also have a big TV. I watched the England v Colombia game during the World Cup, and I could see it in such vivid detail that I nearly cried when Dyer scored that penalty.”

“I know,” said Brienne, “I have been there before.”

“But you’ve never been there with _me_.”

They pulled up in the staff car park on arriving at _Lannisters_ , and entered through the back entrance, hoping to find Cersei in the manager’s office, but unfortunately, she wasn’t there. Instead, they were met by a bored looking blonde, who was blowing bubbles bigger than her head.

“Hello Senelle,” said Jaime, a little awkwardly.

The bubble popped.

“Why didn’t you call me back, you bastard?” said Senelle, in her broad West Country drawl.

“Err…” said Jaime, “oh… when did we go out?”

“I’m not sure I’d call what we did going out,” said Senelle. “Six months ago, you gave me the night of my life and you didn’t think of even texting me?”

Jaime tried to catch Brienne’s eye as he gave a self-satisfied smirk. Brienne looked away; she didn’t really want to imagine what Jaime had done for Senelle to still be hung up on it six months later.

“Well?” asked Senelle. Jaime turned back to her, looking as if he honestly couldn’t remember. “I’m sure I had a valid reason.”

Not wanting to spend time they should be using doing their jobs to sort out Jaime’s love life, Brienne said, “hello. I’m Sergeant Brienne Tarth. I’m here to speak to Cersei Lannister. Is there any way you could contact her?”

Her eyes still fixed on Jaime, Senelle leant forward towards a tannoy system that was on the desk, pressing a button so it lit up. “Ms Lannister to the Manager’s Officer,” said Senelle into the microphone, “Manager’s Officer, MS LANNISTEEERRRR.”

Brienne and Jaime waited in the office with Senelle, who kept asking Jaime very probing questions about his sex life. Brienne didn’t say anything, but instead sat back and watched at the way Jaime countered Senelle beat for beat. For some unnerving reason, Jaime wasn’t looking at Senelle herself, but at Brienne. Brienne never thought she would be thankful to see Cersei Lannister, but she certainly was when she eventually arrived.

“Ah, Sergeant Tarth, Jaime,” said Cersei. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out looking for the miscreant who was caught shoplifting today?”

Cersei dressed to terrify. She was wearing a crimson pant suit, her golden hair tied in a huge bun on top of her head. Even if Brienne had spent years trawling the online make-up tutorials, she could never have created the sculptural effect Cersei managed to. Her six inch heels made her taller than Jaime, and her huge sunglasses balanced on top of her head gave the impression she had just got off a yacht at Cannes. Her eyes were pure wildfire, pure rage, and Brienne wondered why she had ever had the impression Cersei and Jaime looked alike.

Jaime was an altogether softer prospect.

“We pursued the suspect from the scene,” said Brienne, “but unfortunately she managed to slip away after she injured Constable Lannister.”

Cersei’s head snapped around, fixing Jaime with a furious look. Jaime wilted.

“Do you know how much valuable property she got away with?” hissed Cersei.

“No, unfortunately we don’t,” said Brienne, a little ashamed of herself.

“Well luckily I do,” said Cersei. “Gregor informs me it was _three_ packs of Milky Stars, _two_ Lion bars, _and_ a Curly-Wurly.”

Jaime scoffed, but for Brienne, that was six chocolate bars too many.

“Do you think this is funny, Jaime?” spat Cersei, “you’ve never had any respect for me or _Lannisters_.”

Jaime shook his head. “You know that’s not true, Cersei, it’s just the other day Brienne and I worked on a case where somebody had nearly fifteen thousand pounds worth of goods stolen. What have you lost? A tenner?”

Cersei looked so furious that Brienne thought she might strike her brother, so Brienne stepped in. “It’s not so much the monetary value of the goods, Jaime, it’s the principle.” She stepped forward, “Ms Lannister, I promise I will do everything in my power to locate the shoplifter and the missing goods.”

Cersei Lannister looked slightly ameliorated by that, but she returned to her heightened annoyance after Jaime spoke.

“And I’ll do everything in my power to help the wench.” He smiled at Brienne.

“What?” spat Cersei.

“I mean,” he corrected, “I’ll do everything in my power to help Sergeant Tarth.”

* * *

 

After receiving a half an hour tongue-lashing from Cersei, both Brienne and Jaime stood in the staff car park a little shell shocked.

“I feel I’ve been kicked in the bollocks twice today,” he said. “Once physically. Once metaphorically.”

“Which was more painful?” asked Brienne.

“I’m not sure, I’ll let you know later when I’m over the shock.”

They walked back to the car, but Brienne stopped to re-tie her shoelace, giving Jaime the time to slip into the driver’s seat.

“Jaime?” said Brienne, suddenly concerned, “are you sure about this? The last time you drove you ended up T-boning a war memorial.”

He rolled down the window. “Yes, it’s fine wench. You’ve got to learn to live a little.”

“But you said so yourself,” she paused, “you’ve only got one hand.”

Jaime looked a little affronted. “I was the best precision driver in the Greater Manchester Police, I’ll have you know. They let me keep my license. And anyway, we’re off duty now.”

Brienne felt a little nervous, “if you’re sure…”

“I am sure,” he said gently, “I’d never hurt a hair on your head.”

She thought he was taking her home, but they drove right past her flat and into the centre of town.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

When they pulled up outside _The Inn at the Crossroads_ , Brienne rolled her eyes.

“Oh Jaime, I’m not sure I’m in the mood.”

“Come on, wench,” smiled Jaime. “You never know, you might enjoy my company.”

As it was a Friday, the pub was starting to fill up, so Jaime and Brienne had to work their way carefully to the bar. Luckily for them, Pod gave them as smile as they drew near, confirming that Jaime wasn’t barred.

“This one’s on me, wench, what are you having?”

“Erm…” she said, looking at their large selection of Real Ales.

“I’ll have a cranberry juice, please.”

“Cranberry Juice?” he said, “you sure I can’t tempt you with something a bit stronger?”

“No thanks. I don’t want to get drunk. A good police officer should always keep a clear head.”

Jaime nodded just as Pod appeared and asked what they wanted. “Can we have two cranberry juices please,” said Jaime, handing over the cash.

Just then, Brienne saw Margaery waving from the corner.

“Look,” said Brienne, “it’s the rest of the team.”

“What the fuck are they doing here?” said Jaime, as if he were disappointed to see them.

“Brienne! Jaime! Come sit down!”

Brienne was across the room in a blink of an eye, scooting into a seat next to Margaery, and Jaime followed a moment later with the cranberry juices. The Hound shot Jaime a horrified look when he saw the two drinks, before taking an almighty gulp of his own real ale. Robb Stark did not look very impressed to see Brienne.

“Oh look, it’s Sergeant _Fun-killer_. You know the Chief has banned us from smoking in the station now because of your insistence on the Health Act 2006?” When Robb Arryn giggled in response, Jaime interrupted him.

“Sergeant _Tarth_ is just trying to set some standards, Stark. We’re police officers – we should be an example to our community.”

“What, like you, you mean?” chuckled Robb, darkly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” snapped Jaime.

Luckily, at that moment, Joff the German Shepherd barked very loudly – it was obviously dog language for _shut the fuck up_. The Hound gave him an affectionate stroke, a biscuit, and a sip of his ale.

“This is not the city,” said Robb, “we’ve got our own rules here – ancient rules, country rules – and they don’t include the 2006 Health Act.”

“What are these so called country rules?” asked Margaery wryly, as Ilyn banged on the table, as if in agreement.

Robb paused. “Well, for one, we don’t have all you city folk’s lily-livered fear of guns. Everyone and their mum’s packing round here.”

“Like who?” said Brienne.

“Farmers,” replied Robb.

“Anyone else?” asked Margaery.

“Farmers’ mums.”

Suddenly Brienne’s phone buzzed. Brienne’s heart did a little skip when she saw the message was from Renly.

 _Renly:_            Hey B, Loras can’t come round tonight so I’ve got no one to watch _Drag Race_ with. Fancy it?

Brienne’s heart was hammering so loudly in her chest that it was a wonder everyone sitting at the table couldn’t hear it.

 _Now,_ she thought, _how to play this?_

Part of her knew it would be best to be aloof and keep him waiting a while – she didn’t want to seem too eager. She thought about twenty minutes would suffice. However, at the thought of Renly’s deep brown eyes, her resolve only lasted the grand total of seven seconds before she messaged him back.

 _Brienne:_          Sure, I’ll be with you in ten x

She only came back down to earth when she heard Jaime speak. “Wench, you’ve gone as red as a tomato. Are you alright?”

Looking back up from her phone, she saw that Jaime seemed a little flushed too.

“I’m bailing,” said Brienne, getting to her feet, fixing him with the most ridiculously over the top smile. “I’ve just got a better offer than sitting round here moaning with you lot.”

Jaime looked up at her, his eyes full of reproach. “But you haven’t even finished your drink yet.”

She picked up the cranberry juice and downed it. Jaime gulped.

“I have now. See you later.”

“Are you off?” said Margaery, bounding up to Brienne. “Before you go, you’ve got to give me a hug. Your speech was fucking awesome and I just wanted to bask in your glory the whole time.” Margaery flung her arms round Brienne’s neck. “You go girl!”

“Thanks!” laughed Brienne as the pair of them broke apart. “We should do it again, see if there are any other local schools who are interested. Take it on tour.”

Jaime got to his feet. “If your speech was that good,” he said, “I’d like to hear it sometime.”

Brienne smiled. “Margaery’s just being nice…”

“I was not!” said Margaery, indignantly. “It was awesome!” she told Jaime, before taking her seat back next to Robb.

Jaime turned to Brienne. “I suppose I’ll see you on Monday, then. Can I make a request that we go get some doughnuts? If we are sitting around all day in the car, we might as well complete the stereotype.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

It suddenly went quiet between them, and before Brienne had a chance to make some silly quip, Jaime had wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. He only let go once Brienne had given him a slightly confused pat on the back.

“What was that for?” asked Brienne.

He shrugged. “I just wanted to bask in your glory.”

* * *

 

 _What the fuck was that all about?_ thought Brienne as she made her way to _The White Stag_. Jaime had been acting weird at the pub, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

 _Maybe he’s just one of life’s weirdos,_ she thought.

Pushing him out of her mind, she focussed on the exciting prospect of being able to sit with Renly all evening and watch _Drag Race_ with him. Maybe this was what she needed – time to wear him down. She felt they’d had their period of cautiously circling one another and now was the time to act. She decided that tonight, before she left, she would hug him.

Her thoughts of hugging Renly were interrupted, however, when she saw two shadowy figures in the distance. Only when she got closer did Brienne realise it was Arya Stark and the boy she had been snogging at the pub the day Brienne had arrived. They were both eating Lion bars. Although neither of them were looking at her, Brienne approached.

“What were you doing at _Lannisters_ today, Arya? Shouldn’t you have been at school?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “You’ve got no proof I was at _Lannisters_.”

“I don’t know,” said Brienne, “I could probably match the fist print that Jaime’s got in his face to yours.”

Arya chuckled, “did someone beat up Lannister? I told you fighting was important if you want to be a police officer.”

“And I told you empathy is important,” said Brienne. “You really hurt Jaime.”

Arya went slightly red and Brienne took that as an admission of guilt. However, Arya recovered herself quickly. “My dad had lots of empathy and it didn’t do him any good,” said Arya.

Brienne blinked, confused.

“If he hadn’t cared so fucking much none of this would have happened.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes. “None of what would have happened?”

“It’s all right, Arry,” said the boy, “you don’t have to tell her.”

“Yeh,” said Arya, “you are right, Gendry. I don’t.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Brienne, but it seemed both Arya and Gendry were done conversing with her.

“Come on, Gendry, let’s go,” said Arya. “I’ll see you around Sergeant Tarth.”

Arya and Gendry turned from Brienne and began to walk away from her. Brienne thought to follow them, but something told her this wasn’t the right time. Although she seemed tough, there was something immensely vulnerable about Arya Stark, and Brienne was certain she could get her to open up. It would just take time.

Thoughts of Arya Stark dogged Brienne’s mind all the way to _The White Stag_ , so much so that Brienne wasn’t even too disappointed to discover that Renly had started an episode without her.

“Drink, Brienne?” asked Renly. “Tea? Coffee?”

“Tea please.”

It was not the evening she had suspected it would be. Brienne should have been happy, snuggled up on the sofa within arm's distance of Renly, watching _Drag Race_ , but one question kept turning over and over in her mind.

_What had happened to Sergeant Stark?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was originally intended as a weird mash up between the shoplifting scene in Hot Fuzz and Brienne persuading Jaime to live after having his hand cut off by the Bloody Mummers. I decided being kneed in the balls was the most painful thing I could think of to happen to him in the modern world without leaving permanent damage. I would like to state that as I have never owned a pair of balls, I can in no way comment on whether Jaime was faking his level of pain or not :D
> 
> Thanks so much once again to everyone who read this, and I hope you come back for the next chapter!
> 
> Next time... Brienne and Margaery finally go on their Bank Holiday trip to Longleat...


	7. Get in Loser, We're Going to Longleat!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Margaery go to Longleat for the Bank Holiday weekend but, of course, everything does not go *entirely* to plan...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still just so shocked and humbled everybody seems to like this silly idea of mine. Please continue to comment and give me kudos - it makes me so happy!

Brienne had been wrong to think that her speech had gone off without a hitch. A week later, the awkward photos featuring Brienne and Margaery’s faces were splashed all over the front of the Casterly Citizen, under the headline:

SHORT ARM OF THE LAW: TOP COP BRIAN TARTH TELLS IT TO THE KIDS

The first time Brienne saw it she groaned; it had taken two weeks to persuade Jaime to stop calling her Brian after she first arrived, and now he would probably fall back into his old habit. Her prediction (and worse) proved true when she arrived at the station the next day.

“Morning Brian,” said the Hound.

“Morning Brian,” said Robb.

“Morning Brian,” said Other Robb.

“Morning Brian,” said Jon.

Even Ilyn walked past and gave Brienne an over the top wave that she knew she was meant to construe as “Morning Brian”.

“I’m pissed, Margaery,” said Brienne. “Everyone’s calling me Brian.”

“Breathe,” said Margaery, “and rise above it like the tall poppy blowing in the breeze that you really are.”

“What does that even mean?” asked Brienne.

“It means, calm down about it. Tomorrow is Bank Holiday weekend, and we are getting out of Casterly! Be excited!”

In truth, she was excited. In London, nobody had ever wanted to go away with her for the weekend and, even though they weren’t going to the Bahamas, a break was just what she needed. Brienne was looking forward to it so much that the day before going away seemed to crawl along. That Friday, she found herself sitting in the car with Jaime alongside the dual carriageway just outside of town, using the speed gun to catch people breaking the speed limit.

“Forty two,” said Brienne, as a red car whizzed past them.

“My brother Tyrion is having a barbeque this weekend,” said Jaime, as if it was of interest to Brienne. “His girlfriend Shae has just handed in her thesis and they wanted to celebrate while the weather was nice.”

“Cool,” said Brienne, “thirty eight.”

He continued. “Tyrion said I could bring someone if I wanted. I agreed because I really don’t want to be stuck with Cersei bitching about all the competitors to _Lannisters_.”

“Yeah, that does not sound like a whole load of fun. Forty one.” There was a slight lull in the conversation, so Brienne said, “why don’t you take Senelle? It will make up for whatever you did to her six months ago that had her yelling at you when we were at _Lannisters_.”

Jaime sounded a bit crestfallen at that. “Actually, I was going to ask you if you wanted to come.”

Brienne didn’t look at him, as another car sped past. “Thirty nine. I’m sorry, I’m busy this weekend. Margaery and I are going to Longleat.”

“Oh, okay,” he said. “Have fun."

* * *

 

The drive to Longleat was going to take an hour and forty five minutes, so Brienne insisted that Margaery be up at the crack of dawn so they could make the most of their day. Having packed a small overnight bag, Brienne waited in her lounge for the message that told her that her friend had arrived.

 _Margaery:_            Get in loser, we’re going to Longleat!!! :D

Brienne exited the flat to discover Margaery parked outside in the world’s most dishevelled looking pink Mini Cooper.

“Margaery,” said Brienne, “are you sure this thing has passed its MOT? I’m not driving all the way to Longleat in a car that shouldn’t even be on the road.”

“It’s fine, _Sergeant Tarth_ ,” said Margaery, rolling her eyes, “now get in. We’ve got a long drive.”

After putting her bag in the boot, Brienne went to sit in the passenger’s seat only to find the passenger’s side window slightly ajar. She went to use the crank to close it, but it was stuck.

“Marg, do you mind closing this window? It’s quite early so it’s still a little bit cold.”

“Oooh, errr, sorry about that. I can’t. I accidentally kicked it when I got off with Jon in here once, and it’s never been the same since.”

“You got off with _Jon_?” said Brienne incredulously.

Margaery shrugged, “what, he’s cute, even though he’s an idiot.”

Margaery revved the car into life (which it didn’t sound too happy about) and picked her soundtrack for the drive. It was album for the musical _Six_ , which Margaery informed Brienne was a reimagining of the six wives of Henry VIII as modern day pop kweens. The whole way along the A303 Margaery was belting the songs out, and even though Brienne didn’t know them, she could only laugh along.

“We should arrange to go up to London and see it,” said Margaery. “You could give me a tour.”

“It sounds fun.”

Margaery smiled, bopping along to the music. “But before then, you’ll have to come to my birthday party I’m having next week. There’ll be dips.”

Brienne suddenly felt a coil of dread at the pit of her stomach, “oh, I’m not sure I’m one for parties.”

“Of course you are! Everyone who is anyone is coming, so you should too.”

After an hour and a half of singing, chatting, and gossiping, Margaery claimed that sitting in a car with Brienne for an extended period of time was much more fun than sitting with the Hound.

“He’s a sweetie, deep down,” Margaery assured Brienne, “but God Almighty does that man love a long silence.”

Brienne scoffed, “I have the opposite problem, Jaime never shuts up.”

At the mention of Jaime, she wondered how he would get on at Tyrion’s barbeque. Brienne could just imagine his bored eyerolling at having to listen to Cersei twittering on about _Lannisters_ , or his awful pretence at being interested in Shae’s thesis. Brienne wondered if she should message him some ridiculous wildlife facts that she could claim to have learnt at Longleat to make him laugh. The thought of his incredulous reaction made her smile.

Just then, Brienne and Margaery spotted a massive sign saying WELCOME TO LONGLEAT, and Margaery was almost jumping up and down with excitement.

“I am SO looking forward to this!” squealed Margaery. “My brother Loras and his boyfriend came here last summer, and they had a great time.”

“Did they go to the house or the Safari Park first?” asked Brienne. “It would be good to see the animals, but the house itself is one of the greatest examples of Elizabethan architecture in the country, and Longleat is very famous for its labyrinths.”

“Of course we are going to see the animals first!” beamed Margaery. “We’ll do the safari tour, then go to pet’s corner, and tomorrow we’ll have time to do the house. How does that sound?”

“Great!” said Brienne, amazed that Margaery seemed excited at the prospect of spending the weekend with her.

* * *

 

They had just rolled onto the Safari Park route, when Margaery spotted a giraffe. “Brienne,” she squealed, “it’s a giraffe!”

“I know, Margaery, I have eyes.” Brienne thought that sounded like something that Jaime would say.

They drove through the main section of free roaming herbivores and saw a wide variety of animals; aside from the giraffes, there were bongos, tapirs, zebras, wildebeest, and elands.

“Next up we’ve got the monkey drive through,” said Brienne, looking at the map. “There seems to be a little lane you can drive down if you want to bypass it.”

“Why would we want to bypass it? There are _monkeys_.” Margaery moved the car in the direction of the drive through just as Brienne read the small print under the map.

_*Longleat Safari Park cannot be held responsible for any damage sustained by visitors’ goods, vehicles, or property in the Monkey Drive Through. Rhesus Macaques are wild animals, and visitors enter at their own risk.*_

“Erm… Margaery,” said Brienne. “Are you sure this car has been MOT’ed.”

“Yeh, positive. Why?”

“It’s just that this leaflet warns us that the monkeys might be a little bit… feisty.”

Margaery beamed. “I love it. Who doesn’t like a cheeky monkey?”

Margaery sped the car up ever so slightly as the road opened up into an area full of rhesus macaques. Some of them were huddled in little groups, grooming each other. Margaery quickly spotted a mother with her baby.

“Look, it’s a baby monkey!” she cooed. “Can you take a photo if I slow down?”

“Sure,” Brienne said, digging around in her handbag for a phone. Margaery stopped the car half way through the area, leaning back so Brienne could take a photo of her with the mother and baby in the background.

“Take a few,” said Margaery, “I’ll only put the best one on my insta.”

Brienne began to snap a few pictures and Margaery pulled several different faces. She repeated the duck pout several times, before cutting some edgy shapes with her hands.

“Hold it right there,” said Brienne, “that’s a great shot.” Margaery’s face was fixed in a broad smile, that seemed effortlessly beautiful to Brienne. Trying different angles, Brienne took several photos to give Margaery the best range possible. However, as Brienne continued to snap, she realised that Margaery’s eyes had become somewhat glassy.

“What’s the matter?” Brienne asked. Margaery look seemed to be verging on terror.

“Brienne…” she whispered, still frozen in the same position, “there’s a monkey.”

“I know,” said Brienne, “we’re in a Monkey Drive Through.”

Margaery’s hazel eyes grew large. “No… I mean… _there’s a monkey_.”

Brienne could not quite work out what she was talking about until suddenly she heard a high pitch squeaking noise. Using her peripheral vision, she realised that one of the rhesus macaques had jumped up onto the bonnet of the car and then swung across to the passenger side. His fingers had hooked on to the edge of the ajar broken window, but the structural integrity of the car was such that the monkey’s weight was enough to pull the window open. Before Brienne could turn around, the monkey had leapt inside, over her shoulder and onto Margaery’s lap. Margaery’s response to this bold move was to let out a scream that could have woken the dead. The monkey looked a little disconcerted at Margaery’s reaction, while Brienne just stared in shocked horror.

Clearly confused about the reactions of the occupants of the car, the monkey stretched out and grabbed Brienne’s phone, before jumping onto the back seat. Once out of arms reach of either Brienne or Margaery, he began picking at the corner, trying to get the phone out its case.

There was a pause, as Brienne and Margaery stared at the monkey and he stared back at them. If she had been in possession of her phone, Brienne would have been tempted to take a picture.

“BRIENNE! A MONKEY HAS STOLEN YOUR PHONE!” shouted Margaery.

The monkey kept looking backwards and forwards between the two women as if he was expecting them to say hello. Brienne didn’t think it was wise to antagonise him, especially as he had her iPhone.

Dropping her voice, Brienne said, “Margaery! You’ve got to stop screaming!”

“I CAN’T!” screamed Margaery, even louder, “THERE’S A RHESUS MACAQUE IN MY CAR!”

Brienne decided she couldn’t just sit here and do nothing, so she took off her jacket, thinking if she got it at the correct angle, she could use it as a net and catch the little miscreant.

“I can see that, but I think we both need to calm down.”

Pulling her arms towards her, Brienne prepared to throw her jacket at the monkey. In one swift movement, she launched it across the car, but the monkey clearly saw right through her as he stepped lazily to one side, meaning it totally missed.

“Brienne! What shall I do?” Margaery was shrieking, “shall I reverse?”

“No! There’s a car behind us!”

“Well I can’t go forward! We’ll go into the lion enclosure and then I’ll be liable for kidnapping a monkey!”

“I’m not sure kidnapping is the crime you’ll be arrested for,” said Brienne, reaching into the back of the car to try and steal back her jacket. “More likely animal smuggling or something.”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT THE DETAILS!” shouted Margaery. “I CAN’T EVER BE A SERGEANT IF I’VE GOT A CRIMINAL RECORD!”

With that, Margaery made a decision and slammed her foot down on the accelerator, making the car lurch forward, causing the troop of monkeys to scatter before them. Due to the speed Margaery was driving at, they managed to slip through the gate into the lion’s enclosure with the car that was already half way through. However, the driver of the blue Reno Cleo in front of them was clearly not prepared for the garishly pink Mini Cooper that came hoving into view behind him, and he stalled.

To avoid an accident, Margaery turned sharply to the right, causing the car to go careering off the path and down a little slope. Slamming the brakes on, Margaery made the Mini Cooper skid into the mud, all the while watched by a lion and lioness who were lazing together just over a small crest. When the car jumped to a stop, Brienne realised she had been holding her breath all the way from the monkey drive through.

Margaery, too, was shocked and silent, but eventually she managed to squeak, “Brienne… there’s _still_ a monkey in my car.”

But Brienne was no longer worried about the monkey. Her eyes were now fixed on the lion, who had pulled himself to full height when the car came to a halt. There was something about his golden majesty that reminded her of Jaime, but the hungry look in the lion’s eyes was much more Cersei than anything else.

“Oh crap…” said Brienne as soon as she realised what was happening. The lion was picking up pace, soon cantering towards the car. “Margaery, you need to drive!” shouted Brienne, “now!”

It took a moment for Margaery to realise what was going on, but when she did, she did nothing but open her mouth and scream, “WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE! YOU, ME, AND THE MONKEY!”

It was too late to do anything else. The lion was upon them.

 _This is it,_ thought Brienne, _and I’ve never told my dad how much I love Casterly…_

However, luck was on their side. Whether by intent or not, the lion didn’t seem to distinguish between the car and the humans within, so instead of coming for the two screaming women, he sank his teeth into the front right wheel. It went bang two seconds later, and the sound only made Margaery scream louder.

_Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap…_

Brienne closed her eyes, wondering whether the lion was coming for her next, but when there were no sounds other than Margaery’s terrified breathing, Brienne opened her eyes. To her immense relief, the lion had decided he didn’t want to eat two humans for lunch and was slowing padding back to his girlfriend. The way the lioness looked up at him reminded Brienne of the way she and Jaime often shared amused smiles if they saw something silly on their patrol.

“Am I dead?” said Margaery, patting her whole body with her hands as if to check.

“No. I think we’re alive,” said Brienne.

In the situation, she did the only thing that seemed sensible. She leaned across the car and pushed the hazard button, and suddenly every light on the car started flashing. Their monkey visitor seemed interested by this, as he stood up as if to look out the car window.

“If we die,” said Margaery, “I’m glad to die by your side.”

“Thanks for the compliment, but we’re alright. I think we’re going to live.”

Brienne’s prediction was proved true, as suddenly there were three cars upon them. All three were embellished with tiger stripes, instantly indicating to Brienne that the park rangers had finally noticed there were two women sitting in the lion’s enclosure with their hazard lights on. A group of quite burly rangers leapt out armed with dart guns to keep the lions back. One redhead with a great big bushy beard approached Margaery’s side of the car and signalled for her to wheel down the window.

Once she had complied, he said, “we’re going to tow you out… is that a rhesus macaque?”

Brienne and Margaery turned to the back seat to look at their guest, before turning back to the ranger.

“I think so,” said Margaery, her voice wobbling with fear.

Brienne made a mental note that when they got back to Casterly, she would swear Margaery to secrecy over this whole debacle. If it got out, everyone in the station would know within five minutes, and she could already imagine Jaime’s reaction.

_Oh wench, defeated by a monkey. And I thought you were a tough London copper._

She’d never live it down.

* * *

 

The park ranger, who had introduced himself as Tormund, managed to tow the Mini Cooper out of the lion’s den with his Range Rover. Once they got back to the staff centre, he offered Margaery and Brienne free tickets to the talk about Birds of Paradise and a voucher for the café on behalf of the park. Secretly knowing that most of their problems had been caused by the Mini Cooper’s broken window, Margaery agreed enthusiastically and went to talk to the other ranger about the state of the car.

“Hello,” said Tormund, giving Brienne the world’s most disconcerting smile, “what is your name?”

“Brienne.”

“Nice to meet you, Brienne.”

Brienne came to the conclusion that the next five minutes of awkward conversation between herself and the ranger were Tormund’s poor attempts at flirtation. She only managed to escape when he offered her an ice cream from the ranger’s fridge, which Brienne only accepted on the condition that Margaery got a second. Feeling a little awkward under Tormund’s relentless gaze, Brienne went back outside to give Margaery her ice cream, only to find that Margaery had convinced the second ranger (who was a part time mechanic) to change their tyre.

“You have powers I will never possess,” joked Brienne, as the two girls left the rangers, sat down with their ice creams and bathed in the sun.

“I don’t know, you’re doing a pretty good at charming everyone in Casterly,” she said, licking her ice cream.

Brienne blushed, “I don’t know about that…”

“Sure you have!” said Margaery, “but I suppose the bigger question is; has Casterly been charming you?”

If Margaery had asked that question the day Brienne had got off the train, Brienne would have said she was prepared to turn around and go straight back to London. However, she’d been living in Casterly for several months now and was so much happier than she could ever remember being. It was almost as if she’d found her place.

“Although the cases on the job are not as exciting as I was getting in London, I love the town and I love being in the countryside… but I’m not so sure about the people.” She took a lick of ice cream just as Margaery nudged her.

“ _Ha Ha_ , very funny. You’ve at least made one friend in the village.”

“Who’s that then?” asked Brienne.

“Me!”

Brienne blushed. Margaery seemed to say it with such pride and honesty, that Brienne couldn’t help but feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She wasn’t used to people going out of their way to so obviously to win her affection.

“And you are definitely growing on the rest of the team,” said Margaery.

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Really?” replied Margaery, genuinely perplexed. “Who do you think doesn’t like you?”

“Well, Robb Stark for one,” Brienne said. “He’s still a bit hostile.”

Margaery rolled her eyes. “Oh, I wouldn’t get too caught up on what he says. He’s been that way since everything went down with his dad.”

Brienne’s interest was piqued. “Do you mean Sergeant Stark?”

“Mmm mmmh,” said Margaery, taking another lick of her ice cream, “Robb’s the eldest of Ned’s kids. He’d just finished detective training when it all happened.”

Brienne leant in to Margaery conspiratorially, “what _did_ happen?”

Margaery looked over her shoulder, as if she expected someone to be listening to them, before turning back to Brienne. “Ned was old school friends with Robert Baratheon, you know, Cersei Lannister’s ex-husband. It was a really bitter divorce – she accused him of having affairs, he accused her of being an alcoholic – and in the end the courts decided that it was better that Robert have custody of the kids, because they believed what he said about Cersei. It was the talk of the town. Tywin tried to convince Robert to see sense and let Cersei have access to the kids, but he wasn’t having any of it.”

“Right…” said Brienne, not sure what this had to do with Sergeant Stark.

“Not long after the custody of the kids was settled, Ned and Robert went out hunting together as they usually did. Afterwards, Ned dropped Robert off and went home. He was the last person to see him alive. The next morning, Robert’s daughter Myrcella found him dead in the bathroom – his throat had been cut.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I know,” said Margaery, licking a big line of strawberry sauce off her ice cream. “Dramatic, right?”

Brienne looked around in confusion. Hadn’t Cersei mentioned something about that at the NWA Party? “What happened then?”

“Well, Tywin had Doctor Qyburn do an autopsy and he concluded that Robert had slit his own throat while shaving.”

“That’s preposterous!” said Brienne.

“Are you a doctor?” asked Margaery, teasing her. “But anyway, Ned… didn’t accept it. He thought there had been some big conspiracy to kill Robert, and started accusing everyone and everything; Petyr Baelish, Varys… even Cersei. It all got worse when his son, Bran, got hit by a car and ended up in a wheelchair. He was convinced that Bran had seen something, and whoever killed Robert was trying to cover it up. It pushed him right over the edge. The last person to see Ned was Tywin; Ned apparently came rushing into the station late at night claiming he’d worked it all out and he needed Tywin to meet him at Casterly Rock. Ned then dashed off… and no one ever saw him ever again.”

“He disappeared?”

“Yep. Tywin had the grounds of Casterly Rock searched for any sign of him but… no one found anything.”

“That’s so sad…” said Brienne.

Margaery nodded. “Yeh, it had an effect on his whole family. He’d been married to his wife Catelyn for years, and he left five children.”

She thought of Robb and his little sister Arya. Suddenly the rebellious Arya and the grumpy Robb made so much sense.

“Why didn’t Robb try and find out what happened to his dad?”

“He did, but like I said, we found no trace of him. And I think Robb had seen how his dad’s obsession with finding Robert’s killer had been the thing that drove him over the edge in the first place. Robb therefore decided he’d be much happier ignoring it, drinking and smoking with Other Robb in his office.”

Brienne was just mulling on how impressed she was with Margaery’s ability to read people when she realised that her ice cream was beginning to melt down her hand. She licked it greedily before saying, “did you ever think about being a psychologist?”

Margaery smiled, “no, but I think I have a talent for it. I’ve psycho-analysed the whole team, even you.”

Brienne laughed, “you think? Go on then, analyse me.”

Margaery span around so she was a lot closer than she used to be to Brienne, almost nose to nose.

“Are you trying to analyse me or kiss me?” asked Brienne. That also sounded like something Jaime would say.

“I’m just inspecting you,” Margaery before drawing back, pursing her lips, and stroking her chin as if she were thinking. “I think there are three things. Firstly, I see that you are a strong, independent woman who always goes out of her way to do what is right, whatever the cost.”

“True,” said Brienne, in a type of self-denigrating smugness, that reminded her of Jaime.

“Secondly,” said Margaery, “your self-esteem is much lower than it should be given how awesome you are. If you believe you are fabulous, everyone else will too.”

That point hit a nerve with Brienne and Margaery clearly sensed it, so she moved on to her third point quickly. “Finally, I think you have a major crush on someone but are too scared to say.”

Brienne felt her stomach and all other internal organs associated with digestion drop through the floor as Margaery beamed with glee.

“You _do_ fancy someone,” gushed Margaery, “and that was just a random guess! I can tell by your face!”

“No, I don’t!” protested Brienne. She didn’t want to talk about Renly. Margaery was a good friend, but in terms of the leagues of womanhood, they were playing very different sports. Actually, Brienne wasn’t even sure she was an athlete in this analogy; it was like Margaery played every single weekend at Old Trafford while Brienne worked at the burger joint outside the stadium. For that reason alone, Margaery could never understand. If she had a crush, it was more than likely that he would come to her. For Brienne, it was months of unrequited misery more often than not. Talking about it would only make it more real, and Brienne wasn’t quite sure she was ready for that.

Margaery gave her an intriguing smile. “It doesn’t matter that you won’t tell me,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “because I’ve already guessed who it is.”

Now Brienne was genuinely perplexed. Margaery hadn’t even seen Brienne with Renly, except maybe that one brief hello Brienne had given him when Margaery was helping her move out.

“Have you?”

“Yes,” said Margaery, chuckling. “It’s totally obvious. You both seem to just light up when the other is in the room.”

Brienne thought back to the moment Margaery and herself passed Renly on the stairs while they were moving Brienne’s stuff. Maybe Renly had been glowing that day, but Brienne couldn’t remember.

“Who do you think it is then, oh genius one?” asked Brienne.

Margaery shrugged. “Well, it’s obviously Jaime.”

Brienne burst out laughing.

“What?” said Margaery.

“No, Marg, you’re wrong on so many levels that you couldn’t _be_ more wrong.”

“Am I?”

“Yes… so _wrong_ ,” spluttered Brienne through laughing.

“What’s so funny? Don’t you think he’s cute?” smiled Margaery, “ _I_ think he’s cute.”

Brienne conjured up a picture of Jaime in her mind. She had never really given much thought to his physical appearance, as the first time she had met him he had been drunk and aggressive. But, thinking about it, she supposed he was good looking, with his golden hair and cutting smile, but it was in that kind of “out of my league jock” way that Brienne always discounted.

And anyway, he had nothing on Renly.

“I mean,” said Brienne, going a little red, “he’s not bad to look at, but he’s just so… mocking. I feel he’s always laughing at me.”

“At you or with you?” asked Margaery, “there’s a difference.”

“ _At me_ ,” insisted Brienne. “And anyway, I need to know a person to fancy them, and I don’t know anything about him.”

“Really?” replied Margaery, “what don’t you know?”

“Well, for one, how did he lose his hand?”

Margaery raised an eyebrow, “he’s never told you? If he had told anyone, I would have assumed it was you.”

“Never,” said Brienne, “when we are on patrol, he just talks relentlessly for hours about absolutely nothing.” When Margaery gave her a confused look, Brienne said, “why? Do you know how he lost it?”

“No, not entirely,” said Margaery slowly. “All I know is that it happened three years ago while he was an officer in Manchester. He was some kind of big shot up there and then something happened, he lost his hand, and his father brought him back to Casterly. This was all before I had qualified, but from the little bits the Hound has given me it seems that Jaime didn’t really cope very well with being away from the big city and used to drink away his blues. He’s just been… so different since you arrived. The Jaime of today is not the one he was a year ago, and that is a good thing.”

Brienne thought back to that miserable drunk she had met on her first night. Come to think of it, he did seem different.

“Well,” said Brienne, “I assure you that if Jaime has made some huge transformation, it is nothing to do with me or any feelings you think we have for each other.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Positive,” insisted Brienne. “At most we’re…” She thought about saying _friends_ , but then settled for “work colleagues.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there was not much Jaime this time, but I hope that's okay... I wanted time to flesh out Brienne and Margaery's friendship.
> 
> I hope you come back for the next chapter!
> 
> Next time... It is Margaery's birthday party and Brienne decides it is the perfect occasion for her to tell Renly how she feels...


	8. Blind as a Bat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walder Frey has a secret, Tyrion plays the pronouns game, and Brienne decides to tell Renly how she feels...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am literally on cloud nine over all the lovely comments I am getting over this story. Please keep them (and the kudos) coming! They keep me inspired to write!

“So, which way do we go?” asked Brienne. “Where do you think he is?”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, wench. I’m not a mind reader.”

Brienne dug around in her pocket for her phone, trying to ignore the corner the rhesus macaque had chewed, before opening Google Maps and having a look. It showed that Walder Frey’s farm, _The Twins_ , although actually on one farm, was divided down the middle by the road, hence its name. She tried to zoom in and make out which side contained the house, but her 4G then decided to abruptly cut out.

“I think we should go this way,” said Jaime, pointing to a little path hidden behind a hedge.

“Why that way?”

“Just ‘cause,” he said, “I don’t think either of us have a clue where we are going.”

Brienne laughed. “True.”

Putting her phone away, she followed Jaime along the hidden path until it widened out into an open field. As they began to trudge along towards Walder Frey’s distant buildings, Brienne turned to Jaime.

“So, how was your bank holiday weekend?”

Jaime shook his head. “It was okay, I guess. It would have been more fun if you were there, but the weather stayed nice for the barbeque, and I got to meet Pia – she’s the new barmaid at _The Inn at the Crossroads_ , since we made sure Davos lost his job – and she’s nice. After she left though, I got stuck with Cersei, who just made jokes about decapitating disloyal _Lannisters_ customers.”

“Charming,” said Brienne.

Jaime chuckled, “well, that’s my sister for you.” He paused, “what about you then? How was Longleat?”

In truth it had been a great weekend, Brienne had especially enjoyed the tour of the house. However, she didn’t really want to discuss the fiasco with the monkey with Jaime. She’d never live it down.

“It was _eventful_ ,” she said, “we got stuck in a labyrinth for an extra half an hour because Margaery forgot which arm she was meant to be putting on the hedge, and the safari was _fun_. The weirdest thing of all though was there was a park ranger who tried to chat me up!”

Jaime’s head snapped round. “What?” he said, his expression suddenly dark.

“I know,” laughed Brienne. “It was so weird. That never happens to me.”

Brienne examined Jaime’s expression, and it seemed to her that he was agreeing with her on the unlikelihood of someone taking a shine to her.

After a few confused seconds, Jaime said, “I mean… did it _work_? Did he get your number?”

“Ha ha, _no_ ,” she laughed. “He gurned at me for five minutes, talked about how tall I was, offered me an ice cream and then I made my escape.”

For some strange reason, Jaime seemed relieved.

“Playing hard to get as usual, I see.”

_As usual?_

“I never play hard to get,” she said, “because no one is ever trying to _get_ me.”

He was about to say something when there was a shout from the other side of the field.

“Oi, what are you doing on my property?”

Both Brienne and Jaime turned to look up the field, to see a rather grumpy old man who could be no one other Walder Frey hobbling down the field carrying a huge hunting rifle.

“Mr Frey,” said Brienne clearly when the old man was close enough to her. “My name is …”

“I know who you are,” said Walder, “you are that new giantess sergeant, and he’s that pretty boy Lannister.”

Brienne could feel Jaime bristle. “If you mean she is Sergeant Brienne Tarth and I am Constable Jaime Lannister, you would be correct.”

“What do you want?” asked Walder, holding his gun protectively.

“Good morning, Mr Frey,” said Brienne, trying to make the tone more respectful, “we are here because we have complaints that you have been cutting down your neighbour’s hedge that abuts your property. Can you explain to us why you have been doing that?”

“A hedge is a hedge,” said Walder, all the while ignoring Brienne and speaking to Jaime, “I only chopped it down because we are holding my granddaughter’s wedding here in a week. His hedge spoiled our view. What’s Meryn moaning about?”

Brienne tried to fix him with a stern look. “Many congratulations, Mr Frey, but I don’t think a wedding means that your neighbour’s property rights should be infringed.”

“Don’t you patronise me, _woman_. I spoke to Meryn myself yesterday and we came to terms. I won’t be cutting down no more hedges, he won’t be getting any cake at the wedding. There’s no need for police involvement.”

Brienne nodded. “Good. I am glad that the matter has been settled. If you have any further issues, you know where we are.” Brienne went to head back to the car, before her eyes fell on Walder Frey’s rifle. “Mr Frey, I trust you have a license for that gun?”

Walder lifted it up. “I do for this one.”

Jaime and Brienne looked at each other, before Brienne said, “what do you mean this one?"

* * *

 

Walder Frey took them up to a large outhouse, hidden behind a barn. When he shuffled them inside, Brienne gasped. The room was full of weapons; handguns, shotguns, rifles, AK-47s, Kalashnikovs, grenades, ammo, and even a couple of landmines.

“Mr Frey,” said Brienne, “where did you get these?”

“I found them yesterday,” he said, “when I was cutting the trees in the woods between mine and Meryn’s properties so I can fit the marquee for the wedding.”

“Well, Mr Frey,” said Brienne, “this is an extremely dangerous collection. It’s a wonder nobody’s been hurt before.”

Walder Frey rolled his eyes. “Constable Lannister, can you please tell me why this woman thinks she knows anything about firearms?”

Jaime looked at him, all hint of amusement gone from his face. “She knows a lot about firearms, actually. Brienne spent five years in the Metropolitan Police, specialising in drug gangs and people trafficking.”

Brienne didn’t remember telling him all this. Had he looked her up?

Jaime continued and Brienne could hear his temper rising in his voice. “She knows ten times more than me, and about a hundred times more than _you_ about the subject, I can assure you.”

Walder Frey laughed nastily. “Of course she does. She’s the kind of woman who would have to focus on her career.”

An icy tension suddenly pervaded the air.

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Jaime, his voice laced with anger.

Walder Frey looked Brienne up and down, disgust written all over his face. “Surely you have eyes, Lannister. Surely you _see it_.”

Brienne knew what he was trying to say. Walder Frey thought she was so ugly that no man would ever pay her any attention, so of course she would be a career woman. It was an insult she had heard a thousand times before, but as it picked so close to her own insecurities it still had the ability to wound.

Brienne went to say something, but Jaime beat her too it, his words coming out in a snarl. “No, Mr Frey, I don’t _see it_ , and I will not have you disrespecting my partner. She is a sergeant of the highest skill, capability, and commitment, and no disparaging comments from you about the way she looks or the fact that she is a woman will change that.”

Walder Frey looked from Jaime to Brienne and back again before chuckling darkly. “Jaime, I thought you would at least be hankering after a girl with teats, not an ugly looking _ogress_ like her.”

Brienne did not have the time to react before Jaime was upon him. Knocking Walder’s gun to the ground with his prosthetic hand, he had the old man by the scruff of the neck in a flash.

“You are speaking of Casterly’s best sergeant, sir,” Jaime’s green eyes were flashing furiously, his anger unlike anything she had seen in him before. “Call her by her name. Call her Brienne.”

Brienne leapt forward, not wanting to escalate the situation. “Jaime, Mr Frey, please step back. There is no need for a fight.”

Jaime turned his head to look at her, his green eyes changing from anger to softness in a second as his rage melted away. “I’m sorry, Mr Frey,” he said, letting go of the old man. “I let my temper get the better of me.”

“Yes, you did, _boy_ ,” snapped Walder, “your superiors will be hearing about this.”

Jaime went to say something, but Brienne put a hand on his wrist, calming him. A small smile tugged at his lips.

“Mr Frey, these weapons are very dangerous. You cannot keep them here. We will have to call an expert in."

* * *

 

It was decided that the best thing to do was to call Tyrion, who would take the weapons to the Armoury Museum for examination, before liaising with the police about what to do with them from there. When Tyrion arrived, he looked at the collection in wide-eyed wonder and horror.

“Where did Walder say he got these?”

“He said he found them in the woods that join his and Meryn Trant’s properties when he was attempting to cut the trees back to create room for his granddaughter’s marquee,” said Jaime.

“How strange,” said Tyrion. “Well, I’ll have a look at the items and see if I can find anything that can help us locate where they came from.”

“Thank you,” replied Brienne.

“I’ve brought the museum collections' lorry with me. Is it okay if I get my workers to pack them up?”

“Of course,” said Brienne, “if you need any help, let me know.”

As Tyrion walked away to begin organising his workers, Brienne turned to Jaime.

“He’ll make a complaint,” said Brienne, watching as a line of men was set up from the outhouse to the lorry. “Walder, I mean.”

Jaime scowled. “I don’t care.”

“You should,” she said, “it could affect your career.”

His dark mood still ruled him. “When have I ever cared about my career, wench?”

“Never,” she said, knowing him. “But you should. You are a good police officer, and it would be a shame to lose you over a silly miscalculation like that.”

Jaime turned to her, “is that all you think that was? A silly miscalculation?”

She didn’t tell him how supremely touched she was by his actions, but she did say “yes, but it doesn’t mean I’m not thankful.”

A blush came to his cheeks, and she couldn’t help but smile at how easily she could get him to move from anger to gentleness. “So, thanks,” she said, “but you didn’t have to do that, you know?”

“What?” he said.

“You didn’t have to defend me. You don’t have to get in trouble on my behalf. I can look after myself.”

He sighed, “I know you can. I just…” She turned to him, watching him as he seemed to work through so many emotions. Eventually, Jaime sighed, and turned to look at her, wearing an unreadable expression. “I just think that you deserve someone fighting your corner. And why not me?”

* * *

 

It took most of the day to co-ordinate the removal of the weapons from Walder Frey’s outhouse, and by the time they had finished Jaime and Brienne both agreed it was time for a drink. As usual, they went to _The Inn at the Crossroads_ , and Brienne ordered a cranberry juice and half a lager for Jaime.

Just as Pod went off to pick up the drinks, a girlish voice rang out across the bar. “Jaime?”

Jaime turned to see the new barmaid, who had just come out of the back room. “Pia!” he beamed, “it’s so nice to see you again.”

“You too,” she giggled. “You are one of the best sights in all of Casterly.”

Brienne could only watch as Jaime’s cheeks flushed a little, before he signalled towards her. “Pia, this is Sergeant Brienne Tarth. Sergeant Brienne Tarth, this is Pia. I met her at Tyrion’s barbeque.”

“Hi,” said the girl, leaning over the bar to shake hands with Brienne. Pia was one of those obnoxiously pretty girls; she had long chestnut brown hair that hung loose around her, big blue eyes, and the world’s most enormous boobs. When she leaned over the bar, Brienne noticed how Jaime’s eyes dropped to take the smallest peak. She wondered whether he’d ever bothered to look at her own flat chest.

_Probably not._

“Pleasure,” said Brienne, shaking Pia’s hand limply. There was something she already didn’t like about the girl. This was Senelle all over again, but worse, because Pia wasn’t raging and annoyed, but actively interested. Brienne could only watch as Jaime leant on the bar in imitation of Pia’s inviting pose, and as the pair started talking, he shot a wicked smile at Brienne.

 _That man is incorrigible,_ thought Brienne.

Not wanting to interrupt Jaime’s attempts to charm Pia any longer, Brienne trudged back down the bar to where Pod was rummaging through the fridge looking for the cranberry juice.

“Don’t worry, Pod,” she said, “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to go home. Jaime will probably still want his drink though. In fact, he might want to offer mine to Pia.”

Just as she said that, Jaime appeared by her side, a concerned look on his face.

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” she said, “I need time to prepare for the party.”

“I thought you said you have time for a drink?”

Brienne let out a derisive snort. “I’ve changed my mind. I need as much time as possible to make this look presentable,” she said, waving her hands up and down her own body to signal what she meant.

“No, you really don’t…”

“Shut up, Lannister,” she said jokingly, forestalling any attempt for him to make fun of what she looked like. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

* * *

 

_Jaime, I thought you would at least be hankering after a girl with teats, not an ugly looking ogress like her._

Looking in the mirror, Brienne could not help but feel the rising disappointment in her chest. In the shop, this dress had looked really pretty. It was a long flowing blue Maxi dress that Margaery had assured her would really accentuate her height and bring out her eyes.

“I don’t want to accentuate my height,” Brienne had said, feeling awkward, “I don’t want to feel like a troll.”

Margaery had shrugged her shoulders. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

But standing alone in front of the mirror, she didn’t want to flaunt it. She had told Margaery as much when she was in the shop and had insisted on buying a cardigan to cover her arms. Margaery had told her that if she arrived at the party in the cardigan, she would steal it off her and burn it.

“No friend of mine is going to be at my party feeling inadequate.”

Ignoring Margaery’s threat to burn her cardigan, Brienne slipped it on over her shoulders, conscious of how mannish she looked without it. She also disregarded Margaery’s suggestion to wear heels, slipping on a familiar pair of flat sandals. Brienne’s hair was not playing ball, either. She wore her untameable straw-coloured hair loose so it just scraped her shoulders. She remembered Pia’s hair – long, dark and silky – which was probably one of the reasons Jaime seemed to like her.

For all her good intentions, Margaery was full of a type of feel good feminism that prided itself on looking like a kween and slaying all the time. Although its aims were admirable, Brienne wasn’t quite sure how she was meant to do that when she looked the way she did.

 _Stop being so self-pitying,_ came a little voice. _Renly isn’t going to want some sad sack moping around about how ugly they are._

To make herself feel better, she put some little silver hoops in her ears than her father had bought her for Christmas several years ago and looked up the make-up tutorial Renly had found for her on the night of the NWA party. It took so long to get her face to look even one percent as good as the girl on the video, that Brienne suddenly realised she was running late, and had to skip dinner in order to head off in time.

Even though she was late, Brienne decided to walk to Margaery’s house, because it wasn’t too far away. Margaery lived in a pleasant little two bedroom cottage on the outskirts of town that she shared with her brother, Loras. Although Brienne had never met him, she knew him by reputation, and so instantly recognised him as the honey-haired vision who opened the door when she arrived.

“Hey,” he said, his hazel eyes almost glittering as much as his teeth, “you must be Brienne, Margaery’s friend.”

“Yes,” smiled Brienne, “and you must be Loras. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he drawled, opening the door wider to allow Brienne to step inside. “You can hang any coats and bags you have up in here,” he said, indicating towards a small cupboard, “and most people are either in the living room or the kitchen. Make your choice.”

“Thanks,” said Brienne as he left her to put her coat away. Placing her bag inside the cupboard, she thought about taking her cardigan off too.

 _Be brave, you can do this,_ she thought, as she stuffed the cardigan into her bag, before slamming the cupboard door and heading off in the direction of the living room.

There were a few people she recognised that had already arrived. Apart from Loras, Robb Stark was lounging against the wall in a way he clearly thought was seductive, chatting to a girl Brienne didn’t know. The Hound was sitting on the sofa drinking a beer, Joff perched next to him, while Jaime was standing on their other side, trying to engage the Hound in small talk. Brienne’s heart warmed at the sight of Jaime – at least she would have someone to trade stupid jokes with if all this socialising got too much. He was wearing a pair of dark jeans with a red t-shirt and a dark jacket; since she rarely saw him out of uniform, she was surprised at how well the colour suited him.

Moving towards him, she noticed the way his eyes latched onto hers before she spoke. “Hey Jaime,” said Brienne. “I was expecting you to still be at the pub chatting up Pia.” She was expecting a quick response, a mocking joke about that was where he would rather be instead of here talking to her, but he seemed incapable of it. Instead, he was frozen to the spot. It was all strangely disconcerting, as his green eyes were wide with some unreadable emotion, and for once in his life he was silent. Troubled, Brienne said, “are you okay?”

He nodded slowly, swallowing thickly, before taking a few steps forward towards her. Putting one hand on her elbow, he drew her close and whispered in her ear, “wow, wench, that dress really suits you.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. She didn’t have time for his ridiculous fake flirting. As far as she was concerned, he could save that for Pia. She fixed him with a look that she thought conveyed her scepticism.

“What are you going to say next? _Wow, wench, that dress really suits you… it’s just a shame you are built like a brick shithouse?_ ”

He drew back, looking a little confused, before leaning even closer, his nose brushing her cheek. “No, I was just going to say it brings out your eyes. You have astonishing eyes, you know… they’re … they’re… really… _blue_.”

She shivered, a blush overcoming her that went right down to the roots of her hair, and the look in Jaime’s eyes showed her that he had noticed. Her predicament was only made worse when a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth that she didn’t know whether to trust or not. Feeling the close heat of him, Brienne was suddenly very conscious of the fact that his hand remained on her elbow and his eyes were still upon her. Trying to regain control of the situation, she cleared her throat and was about to say something when Margaery came charging over.

“Brienne! You are here! At last!”

At Margaery’s appearance, Jaime let go of Brienne, stepping back towards the Hound, his hand jumping to stroke Joff’s head as if that was what he had been doing the whole time.

“Yes,” said Brienne, “I’m finally here.”

“And without your cardigan I see!” beamed Margaery. “You look fabulous!” Margaery turned to Jaime and the Hound, “doesn’t she look fabulous?”

The Hound gave her a once over before taking a sip of his beer. “She looks alright, I suppose.”

In normal times, Brienne would have taken the description “alright” gladly, but then Jaime fixed her with an uncomfortable stare and said, “you look beautiful, wench.”

Brienne considered him confusedly. She wasn’t quite sure what the point of this joke was, as nobody seemed to be laughing.

She was therefore somewhat relieved when Margaery ushered her into the kitchen, beyond Jaime’s gaze. The open plan kitchen had been cordoned off into different areas, so that there was a clearly delineated space for dancing, while another contained a huge table laden with drinks and nibbles.

“Look!” said Margaery, rushing her over to the dining table, “I’ve been making cocktails! What do you think?”

“Very… nice,” she said, gazing at the glasses full of concoctions that looked like they had been made by Professor Snape rather than a qualified cocktail maker.

“You’ve got to try one!” beamed Margaery, “I’ve forced them on everybody else.”

She put a rather gaudy pink monstrosity into Brienne’s hand that smelt so strong that Brienne felt vaguely nauseous.

“What have you put in this?” said Brienne, “pure ethanol?”

“Love and tender care,” said Margaery sweetly.

“Will _love and tender care_ knock me out cold after one sip?”

Margaery laughed. “I don’t know. If I find you sprawled out on the dancefloor later, we’ll know for certain.”

It was at this point that Renly Baratheon decided to make his entrance, looking like an angel who had accidentally fallen out of heaven. He was working the room effortlessly, saying hello to loads of people Brienne was sure he had never even met as if they were old friends.

Brienne turned back to Margaery. “Can I have three of them please?”

“Three!” gawped Margaery, “I’m not sure they are that good.”

“I agree,” said Brienne nudging her, “but if I am going to get through tonight, I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

* * *

 

The hours passed really quickly, which surprised Brienne. She normally found parties excruciating, but she was really enjoying this one. At one point, she found herself in a long conversation with a pretty girl with long brown hair by the name of Roslin Frey. Nothing like her grandfather, Brienne and Roslin had discovered they had a similar taste in music, and eventually Roslin had gone on to explain the local music scene to Brienne, highlighting which local bands she was having at her wedding the following week.

“I’m having _The Castameres_ , and _The Blue Bard_ , and Edmure has even said he might be able to get a last minute booking from _Marillion_.”

After talking to Roslin, Brienne had bumped into a very drunk Jon, who told her all about how he was in an online relationship with a girl from Iceland and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“Is she a catfish?” he kept asking. “Ygritte seems too good to be real. She says she’s a model that used to go out with Chris Brown, but I don’t know what to believe.”

Brienne could only shrug. “I don’t know. You’d have to go to Iceland to find out.”

The party was so full of interesting people to talk to, that Brienne barely noticed that she hadn’t said a word to Jaime since leaving him in the living room at the beginning of the night. Yet she could feel his presence. All evening, out of the corner of her eye, she kept seeing him, but strangely he never came to talk to her. At the same time, she found there was something holding her back from approaching him.

Her bigger concern, though, was Renly. He was so charming, so effervescent, so full of life, that the more alcohol she drank the more she became convinced it was all for her. During her conversation with Jon, Renly had brushed past her to go to the loo and that three seconds of contact felt more real than the months of fevered communication that Jon had explained he had with Ygritte.

Around midnight, having drunk nine of Margaery’s cocktails, Brienne made her decision: she was going to tell Renly how she felt.

Buoyed by the fun she was having, and the Hound’s earlier acknowledgement that she looked “alright”, Brienne went back to the cocktail table and took yet another one of Margaery’s more recently brewed drinks. Wanting to steady herself before going for it, Brienne decided to step out in the garden for a few minutes to gather her thoughts.

 _You, Brienne Tarth, are a badass,_ she told herself. _You can do this._

She took another sip of the world’s most obnoxious cocktail to give herself a lick of courage. If she never asked, she would never get.

Just as she was about to re-enter Margaery’s house to face her fate, when Tyrion Lannister appeared.

“Ah, Sergeant Tarth, why do we keep meeting in gardens?”

She smiled. “I don’t know.”

“What are you doing out here with that awful looking cocktail?”

Brienne shrugged, feeling herself go red. “We all need a bit of Dutch Courage every once in a while, don’t we?”

Tyrion laughed. “I suppose we do. What do you need it for?”

The drink was clearly already working, as she said, “I’m just working up the energy to ask someone out.”

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. “Oooooh, that’s exciting. Who’s the lucky guy or gal?”

Almost subconsciously, Brienne turned her head so she was looking back into the house at Renly. He was looking devilishly handsome tonight, in a navy suit jacket and jeans, with a soft pink shirt. He was talking to Jaime, who was obviously telling him some ridiculous joke, because Renly’s beautiful eyes were alight with laughter and his smile seemed to make him glow.

Tyrion followed Brienne’s gaze and landed on the object of her affection. “Oh,” he said, “I mean… because of course. He’s always had girls falling all over him, even though his game is terrible.” Tyrion paused, “come to think of it, that’s probably _why_ his game is terrible.”

Brienne started to zone back in on what Tyrion was saying, even though she was still looking at Renly. “Is his game _that_ terrible? It’s worked on me.” She sighed. “The problem is, I don’t know if he has realised it though, and I don’t even really know if he likes me back.”

Tyrion smiled, “well, I know him _very well_ , and from where I’m sitting, I think it’s pretty clear he is absolutely smitten with you.”

She wasn’t aware that Tyrion and Renly knew each other that well – they shared a niece and nephew, yes, but did that really make them best friends? Brienne decided not to question Tyrion’s observation, as it was music to her ears.

“You think?”

“Definitely,” smiled Tyrion, “and you’ll be pleased to know I’ve just asked Margaery to put on all the slushy romantic music, you’re not the only one intent on wooing tonight. This is your ideal time.”

“Thanks,” she said, buoyed by his encouragement. “Do you mind holding my drink?”

“Of course,” said Tyrion, taking it off her.

She didn’t wait one more moment to march back into the house.

 _Carpe fucking diem,_ she thought.

As she entered through the back doors, she felt Jaime’s eyes turn to her, but only once she was standing in front of the two men did Renly’s do the same. He looked surprised, while Jaime was beaming at her.

“Wench,” Jaime smiled, but Brienne ignored him.

“Hey Renly,” Brienne said, just as the first few bars of Ed Sheeran’s _Thinking Out Loud_ started blaring out on Margaery’s speakers. “I was just wondering if you wanted to dance with me?” Just as she said it, people on the makeshift dance floor started pairing off, wrapping their arms around each other and preparing for the slushy slow dance.

The pause that followed was one of the longest of Brienne’s life.

“Oh,” said Renly. “I didn’t realise…”

Just at that moment, Loras Tyrell appeared behind Renly, an effortless smile on his face, looping one arm around Renly’s.

Renly gave Brienne a consoling smile. “I’m sorry, Brienne, but I was kind of saving this dance for my boyfriend, Loras. I hope you don’t mind.”

He said it with such kindness that even though Brienne’s heart had fallen to the ground and smashed to pieces, she didn’t immediately set about trying to pick it up.

"Oh, yeah, sure… of course… maybe when Margaery puts on the _Cha Cha Slide_ later you can come find me.”

He nodded awkwardly, “yeah, it sounds fun.”

Loras pulled Renly’s arm, “come on babe,” and Renly allowed himself to be taken away onto the dance floor.

She was frozen in shock; her heart beating madly in her chest, her stomach roiling, her blood pumping around her body. Brienne almost wanted to throw up.

 _You fucking idiot,_ she thought, as she watched Loras wrap his arms around Renly’s neck before kissing him.

Renly was gay, because _of course he was gay_. How had she been so blind? They’d watched two series of _Drag Race_ together and no straight men were ever nice to her for no good reason. She could only watch as Renly slipped his arms round Loras’ waist, and the two of them began to sway and kiss along to the song just as Ed belted out:

“We found love right where we are.”

 _Fuck you Ed,_ she thought, _love has always been on the other side of the planet for me._

She didn’t want to cry. What was there to cry about? Renly hadn’t gone out of his way to purposefully hurt her. Instead, she had just built up this version of him in her head that she now had to mourn. It was all her own fault. The real Renly Baratheon, the one she had never really known, had a boyfriend called Loras who loved him very much. The real Brienne Tarth was a fucking idiot who always tried to imagine a world in which she wasn’t completely unlovable.

As bad as the disappointment was, there was also the embarrassment. Renly would think her so oblivious, so stupid. Looking back on it, he talked about Loras all the damn time. Renly had helped her with her make-up. The first time she had seen him, he had been listening to _The Cheeky Girls_ for Christ’s sake.

It was only then that she realised that Jaime was still standing there, his green eyes trained on her. His smile had vanished, and for some reason he had gone pale as a sheet. Brienne took a deep breath. Under his gaze, the best thing for her to do was to hold her head high and keep her dignity, just like she had tried to do during the Connington debacle. At least, she would do so until she got back to the privacy of her own room where she could ugly cry into her pillow.

She made to move towards the exit…

_Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry._

… but was caught by Jaime.

“Wench,” he said, hoarsely. “Where are you going?”

“Not now, Jaime,” she said, “please.”

His expression softened slightly, “what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said, determined to hide her embarrassment and sadness even as her blush rose up her cheeks.

“Well,” he said, trying to regain the smile he had worn earlier. “If nothing is the matter you can dance with _me_. I may have five years on that pretty boy Renly, but I can still do a mean two step.” He attempted to demonstrate.

 _Oh fuck,_ thought Brienne, _he wants to wind me up about it._

His mention of Renly pricked at her embarrassment and made Brienne scowl, “I’m really not in the mood for you taking the piss of me right now. I’ll see you at work.”

“I…”

“Don’t deny it. That’s what you are trying to do. I’m going home.”

“But…”

“Just leave me _alone_.”

Ignoring the way his face fell, she stomped off, picking up her bag from the cupboard as she went, and disappeared into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Brienne just crushed Jaime's hopeful little heart and she has no idea what she done! Typical Brienne!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I know it was a tiny bit more serious this time, so I hope you still found stuff in it to enjoy. I also know everyone has been waiting for Brienne to find out about Renly's sexuality, so I hope it didn't disappoint. 
> 
> I really hope you stay with me and come back for the next chapter, and please comment and leave kudos :D
> 
> Next time... Brienne has to deal with the fallout from Margaery's party...


	9. Buddies, Chums, Pals, Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After her disaster at Margaery's party, Brienne does everything she can to salvage her dignity... and her relationships...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe how many comments and kudos you wonderful people are giving this silly story! Please leave more, as usual, it inspires me to write :)

Brienne regretted every single one of the nine and a half of Margaery’s homemade cocktails she drank at the party. When she woke at 5am, her body commanded her to run to the bathroom, where she immediately threw up the entire contents of her stomach.

 _Brienne:_ I think I’m dying.

 _Margaery:_         Oh no! What’s up?

 _Brienne:_            I’ve just seen my insides. I’m scared.

 _Margaery:_         Wut?

 _Brienne:_            I’m blaming your cocktails. I’ve chundered everywhere.

By 8am, the vomiting had subsided, but she still felt weak and a little bit shaky, so she took some paracetamol and went back to bed. By the time she woke up at 1pm, she felt a lot better, so she went and had a shower.

Brienne instantly knew that was a mistake, because suddenly all the pain and embarrassment of last night was upon her again. Why had she done it to herself? The evidence that Renly was gay had been right in front of her eyes from the first time she had met him, and she had obliviously looked away. The more she thought about it, the more she realised it was because she had wanted to invent herself a man she dreamed could be interested.

 _Stupid,_ thought Brienne as she brushed her hair, _no one is ever interested._

She tried to map out the series of events that had led to deciding to confess all to Renly, if only that she could avoid repeating the mistake again. She supposed it had all begun with Margaery’s insistence that she should wear a dress that accentuated her features, as if her features were something worth accentuating. It had planted a seed in her mind that perhaps there was something attractive about her that could grow under the right conditions.

Then Jaime had said she was beautiful. It had been a joke, of course, but as she had drunk several of Margaery’s awful cocktails, she had started to believe it really was true. Renly had looked so happy, and under the influence it had all seemed like the ending of a rom-com.

And then there was that bizarre conversation with Tyrion. From his position in the garden, Tyrion had seen Renly, his head falling back as he laughed at one of Jaime’s jokes, and had said that he was obviously smitten with her. Brienne couldn’t see how he had come to that conclusion, because now, Renly didn’t seem anything but obviously in love with Loras.

Perhaps the only good thing to come out of it was that the sudden truth had shattered any vestige of that ridiculous crush. Renly and Brienne were friends, yes, but she hadn’t known enough about him to even realise he had a boyfriend. She had just taken his outline and filled him in with colours she fancied, rather than liking him for himself.

Fed up of even thinking about it, at about 5pm she made herself a microwave meal and went to bed. Even though it was early, going to sleep was a better prospect than spending the next several hours turning her embarrassment over and over in her head.

* * *

 

Brienne was a little nervous to go to work on Monday morning, so she had to keep reminding herself that no one there had known about her crush on Renly, except perhaps Jaime. Although exact details of the later stages of the party were a little fuzzy, she did remember him approaching her after Renly had turned her down. She was sure it was all part of some piss take, but she remembered he had used some unduly harsh words to him that she now regretted.

When she arrived in the station, she found Jaime sitting at his desk, scrolling through his phone.

“Hey Jaime,” she said, her voice unintentionally small.

He didn’t look up. “Hey.”

She sat down next to him, smiling, but he still kept his eyes locked on his phone. “How was your Sunday?”

“Fine.” She was about to try a different line of questioning, when the Chief appeared in front of them.

“We’ve been having some problems with speeding along the dual carriageway again. Can you two go up there and put the fear of god into them?”

“Of course, sir,” said Brienne.

Following the Chief’s orders, Brienne spent most of Monday sitting in the car alongside Jaime. It was his turn with the speed gun, and he was using it diligently. The only words that were coming out of his mouth were the miles per hour of the drivers.

“Thirty eight.”

“Forty four.”

“Forty one.”

“Thirty nine.”

She’d never known him be so quiet before. Where were all the stupid comments about black holes and childhood crushes and otters and squirrels fighting? Once or twice, she tried to draw him into a discussion:

“Jaime, how many marshmallows do you think you could cram in your mouth in thirty seconds?”

Jaime didn’t turn his attention to her but kept his eyes on the road. “Twenty three. I tried it at a party once.”

That was the end of the conversation.

After they’d finished their patrol and parked up back at the station, she asked him whether he wanted to go for a drink at _The Inn at the Crossroads_.

“No, sorry, I can’t,” he said, for the first time ever.

“What?” she said, astonished, “but you basically live in _The Inn_.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’ve got to… err… prune my rose bush tonight.”

Brienne felt that was some form of internet slang she wasn’t aware of. “Is that a euphemism?”

“No,” he said, suddenly defensive. “I just… care about horticulture.”

He was looking slightly pained, so Brienne tried to help him out of his misery. “Well, could you care about horticulture another time?”

“No, sorry,” he said. “It is a matter of extreme urgency.”

He nodded as a form of goodbye and left her standing in the car park. If she had been confused about his behaviour at the party, this new Jaime was something else.

* * *

 

As she walked home, Brienne was in such deep thought about how she could get the old Jaime back that she barely noticed Renly jogging along towards her until it was almost too late. When she finally did see him, she felt a violent urge to vomit. Looking around madly, she suddenly noticed a holly bush growing in one of the gardens off to the left and almost launched herself off the ground in order to hide behind it in time. Crouching down, she pushed herself up against its prickly leaves.

“Oh fuck,” she said, when her finger was cut by a prickle. She sucked at it, trying to stem the blood, and the pain diverted her attention for long enough that she didn’t notice Renly slow down and lean over the holly bush to look at her.

“Brienne,” he said, “what are you doing down there?”

_Well, fuck._

Brienne began to pick nervously at the leaves, trying not to prick her fingers again, as if she were inspecting them. “Oh, I just really care about horticulture,” she said, getting to her feet. She was suddenly very conscious of the particular shade of crimson she had gone but didn’t really know what to do about it.

When she finally found the courage to look up at Renly, she found he was giving her a warm smile. “I hope you enjoyed the party in the end,” he said.

“Oh yeah,” she said, feeling more and more embarrassed by the second, “I’d drunk so much, I was buzzed.”

“Yes,” he laughed, “me too.”

A glimmer of hope welled in Brienne’s heart. “Do you… remember _everything_ that happened?”

His eyes darkened. “Yes, Brienne. Yes, I do.”

“Oh.”

He extended a hand to help her out from behind the bush and back out into the road, which she took gratefully. Only when they were standing face to face did Renly speak. “I do remember,” he said, “and I don’t want you to be embarrassed about it, or feel you need to hide from me. We all get a silly crush from time to time.”

Brienne tried to play it cool, but what came out instead was, “but it wasn’t just a silly crush was it? I got totally obsessed with my gay best friend.”

Renly shrugged. “Some crushes are sillier than others. And it’s was kind of my fault. I don’t think I ever strictly mentioned Loras was my boyfriend. It could be argued I was leading you on.” He was giving her such a cheeky grin that she finally felt the embarrassment drain away from her.

“Oh yes,” she smiled, “you wooed me with all those episodes of _Drag Race_. Totally a very straight TV choice.”

Now it was Renly’s turn to laugh. “Totally.” He paused, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “I really like your company, Brienne, and I don’t want this to come between us. Do you think it will?” He looked genuinely concerned at the thought that it might. Looking at him now, she couldn’t believe how quickly the almighty crush she had had on him had dissipated. In the light of the truth of his relationship with Loras, her infatuation suddenly seemed very small and inconsequential.

“Of course it won’t,” she said honestly. “I want to be your friend too, Renly. I do hope we can stay that way.”

“Definitely,” he smiled. Once again, she was touched at how willingly the residents of Casterly were to extend the hand of friendship to her.

“Now,” he smiled, “as all is well between us, I just wanted to let you know about the little show I am in.”

“Little show?”

“Yes,” he said. “Do you remember I said I was in rehearsal for a show rehearsing at the civic centre directed by Loras? Well, the opening night is on Friday. We’re staging a homage to William Shakespeare’s _Romeo and Juliet_ , and I’m playing the eponymous hero. The full production is over at _The Gate Theatre_ in Lannisport, and we will need all the support we can get. Would you be interested in coming?”

“Yes,” she said excitedly. She had not been to the theatre since leaving London and, even though it was Am-Dram, she was looking forward to the prospect.

“Great,” he said. “I can get two tickets left at the box office for you. The show starts at 8pm.”

“It sounds wonderful,” she said. “I can’t wait to see you give your Romeo.”

He smiled but was interrupted by his watch beeping. “Ah, yes,” he said, “I’m on a timed run. I really will have to dash. I’ll see you later, though?”

“Yes of course,” she said, smiling as he jogged off into the distance.

At his departure, a wave of relief washed over Brienne. She had been so scared that she would have to spend the rest of her time in Casterly forever hiding in holly bushes to avoid him, but in one simple conversation he had made it so easy for her to move on. Smiling to herself, she got out her phone and messaged Margaery, asking her if she wanted to take the second ticket. All thanks to Renly, she was then able to finish her walk home with a slight spring in her step.

* * *

 

On Tuesday morning, she woke up to a message from Margaery.

 _Margaery:_        Sorry babe, can’t come on Friday. I’m off on a bloody awful tinder date.

Disappointed, Brienne messaged her back.

 _Brienne:_           That’s okay. I’ll find someone else. I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you think it is. <3

At any other time, Brienne would have asked Jaime, but at that precise moment he was proving harder to talk to than a brick wall. Tuesday went much like Monday had, but this time the two of them were parked out along Dragonstone Street. Brienne noticed that Jaime would take a long time whenever he went into the corner shop, a lot longer than he normally would. Even so, before they finished their patrol, Brienne tried once again to convince him to come for a drink with her, but this time she asked more slyly.

“Jaime, what do you think of the cider selection at _The Inn_? Have you got a particular one that is your favourite?”

“I quite like the Thatcher’s Gold Summer Fruits one.”

That had made her slightly queasy the last time she had tried it, but Brienne found herself saying, “oh cool. I haven’t tried that one. Why don’t we go and have a drink together so I can try it out?”

“Sorry, I can’t. I’m going to get my hair cut.”

On Wednesday, when he arrived at work with his hair looking exactly the same way it had the day before, she thought she would sidestep the issue of a getting a drink entirely and try asking him to do something different.

“Have you ever been to the bowling alley in Lannisport?”

“No,” he said, “I haven’t been bowling since I was a kid.”

“Well, do you want to come with me to try it out? I hear it is meant to be fun.”

Jaime shook his head, “sorry. Tyrion and Shae have invited me over for dinner tonight. Shae’s cooking a Moroccan tagine, I can’t miss it.”

On Thursday, once they had finished their patrol, instead of taking the car back to the station, Brienne parked it right outside _The Inn at the Crossroad_ s. “Come on, Lannister,” she said, “let me buy you a drink.”

He didn’t look at her. “Sorry, I really can’t tonight.”

“Why not?” she asked, a little dejected. “They have a great selection of Real Ale.”

He took a deep breath, before turning to face her. “Pia asked me out on a date. We’re going to _The Picturehouse_ to see some indie horror she’s been raving about. I have to go home and get changed. I doubt she’d want me turning up in my uniform.”

It felt as if all Brienne’s internal organs had just jumped off a diving board and belly flopped into the water. “Oh,” she said, before trying to compose herself. “Why not? Women love a man in uniform.”

The corners of his mouth turned up in a half smile. “Do they? In my experience, that’s not true.”

The drive back from _The Inn_ to the station was deathly silent, and the only words exchanged where short goodbyes after they got out of the car. Afterwards, she just stood there, watching him walk away from her, trying desperately to think of something to say.

Only once he was out of sight did Brienne begin her own walk home, her mind buzzing with unanswered questions. Was Jaime really going on a date with Pia? It seemed so wrong, somehow. Yes, Pia was pretty, but they’d barely known each other two weeks. And surely Jaime wanted something other than looks? And even if Jaime was attracted to Pia’s personality, Brienne did not think she seemed the type to get Jaime. Jaime had a quirky sense of humour, a quick wit, and could be cutting when he wanted to be. No offence, but Pia seemed a bit… simple. In the long run, Pia would bore him, surely.

Brienne was in such a foul mood by the time she got home that she instantly ordered a takeaway curry, because she thought that stodgy food was the only way to deal with her grumpiness. Turning on the TV, she started to relentlessly channel surf, not watching anything in particular because she just couldn’t concentrate.

Jaime and Pia? On what planet did that work? Not only were they entirely incompatible, by they also produced the world’s most ridiculous couples portmanteau: how could a couple called _Paime_ be allowed to exist?

At about eleven o’clock, her curiosity could no longer be held in, so Brienne got her phone out and messaged Jaime.

 _Brienne:_           How did the date go?

Even though she could see he had read it, she didn’t get a response. She assumed that meant it had gone very well, and he was probably in bed with Pia at that very moment.

On Friday, she decided to try the nuclear option: she was going to ask him outright what his problem was, and if he didn’t have one, whether he wanted to come and see _Romeo and Juliet_ with her. Once again, they were sitting in the car in the square where they had once chased Arya Stark. Jaime had just come back from the corner shop, carrying a huge box of _Krispy Kremes_.

As he got back into the car and put the doughnuts on the dashboard, words began tumbling out of Brienne’s mouth. “Jaime, is everything alright?”

He didn’t look at her straight away. “What do you mean?”

She leant over, touching his shoulder almost imperceptibly, “is everything alright between us?”

Either the pressure of her fingers or the word us caused him to look into her eyes.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Why do you say that?”

Brienne shrugged. “It just seems to me that ever since Margaery’s party… we’ve not been as we usually are.”

The slightly reproachful look he gave her meant suddenly she couldn’t stop talking. “I know I was rude to you, and I’m sorry about that. I was embarrassed and upset, but that’s no excuse for how I behaved. I just… thought Renly liked me, and when he didn’t dance with me it was like having a carpet ripped from under my feet, you know? I know it’s no excuse…”

Now it was his turn to hold up his hands. “That’s alright, wench. You don’t have to explain. I know what a broken heart feels like.”

 _He called me wench,_ she thought. He hadn’t called her that in days.

“But I do,” she insisted. “It wasn’t right for me to hurt your feelings and ruin our friendship just because I was embarrassed and sad.”

“You didn’t ruin our friendship. We’re still friends.”

Brienne felt a flood of relief wash over her, “are we? Are you sure?”

He laughed softly. “Of course. We’re friends. Buddies. Chums. Pals. Mates. Comrades.”

“I think you are going a bit overboard on the synonyms now.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I probably am, but the point still stands. I wouldn’t tell some randomer on the street that my childhood crush was Miss Trunchball. You hold one of my deepest, darkest secrets in your heart and I expect you to keep it to your grave. I’d only do that if you were my friend.”

Brienne felt properly bubbly and warm for the first time since Margaery’s party. “Good,” she beamed, “I’m so glad.”

“So am I,” he said, his cheeks going a little red.

“Well, as we are now _buddies slash chums slash pals pick your own synonym here_ again,” said Brienne, “I wondered whether you wanted to come to the Casterly Footlights production of _Romeo and Juliet_ with me? I’ve got a spare ticket for the 8pm show tonight.”

Jaime nodded. “That sounds nice.”

With his agreement, Brienne felt like a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders, so much so she felt she owed him something. Wanting to make sure that the old atmosphere would come back, she said, “so, you know when Margaery and I went to Longleat, did you know that we both nearly got killed by a lion?”

* * *

 

Brienne spent just as much time picking her outfit to go to see the play as she had Margaery’s party. She eventually settled on a blue shirt with a pair of jeans; it was casual, but smart enough for the theatre. When she spent a similar amount of time brushing her hair, it made it go static, and she had to tell herself furiously to leave it alone. It was only Jaime who was going to be looking at it, after all.

The play was being performed at _The Gate Theatre_ , which was about two thirds of the way along the road from Casterly to Lannisport. As Jaime was going to have dinner with his father first, they had arranged to meet in the bar at _The Gate_ , so Brienne took a cab alone. Expecting to wait, she was surprised to see Jaime was already there, dressed in a shirt and jeans.

“You are wearing blue again,” he said, instead of saying hello.

“Yeah, I am.”

"Good,” he said. “I like you in blue.”

She didn’t really know what to say to that, so she suggested that go get a drink, which he accepted.

In the queue, she decided to broach a fairly dangerous subject. “So, how did the date with Pia go?”

“Good,” he said again, “we’re seeing each other again next week.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” said Brienne, suddenly possessed by the desire to find a cheese grater and rub it on Pia’s pretty face.

“Yeh, she’s a nice girl,” he said, before changing the subject. “Do we know what to expect from this show?”

“I believe Margaery’s exact words to me were _it’s directed by Loras, so expect it to be as gay as the fourth of July_.”

“Oh yes,” said Jaime wryly, “the most famous homosexual relationship in all English literature: _Romeo and Juliet_.”

“I don’t know,” shrugged Brienne, “whenever I’ve seen it before, I’ve always thought that Romeo was much more interested in Mercutio than Juliet. And there are all those dick jokes.”

However, it was Jaime’s prediction of a gay Romeo and Juliet seemed to be closer to the truth, once they were sat down in the auditorium reading the programme.

**The Casterly Footlights Society and The Gate Theatre Presents…**

**A Performance of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet**

**Sponsored by Lannisters Supermarkets Ltd.**

Director: Loras Tyrell

Romeo: Renly Baratheon

Juliet: Loras Tyrell

Friar Lawrence: Eddison Tollett

Mercutio: Sansa Stark

The Nurse: Bronn Blackwater

Tybalt: Ramsay Bolton

Capulet: Asha Greyjoy

Lady Capulet: Samwell Tarly

Montague: Janos Slynt

Lady Montague: Alliser Thorne

Paris: Jorah Mormont

Benvolio: Jeyne Poole

Prince Escalus: Vargo Hoat

Friar John: Jojen Reed

Balthasar: Josmyn Peckledon

The Apothecary: Petyr Baelish

The Chorus: Jeyne Heddle

Stage Manager: Podrick Payne

Catering: Wyman Manderly 

“Well that’s an _interesting_ cast,” said Jaime, reading the programme over Brienne’s shoulder. “Loras must have been inspired by Bronn’s well known maternal qualities in casting him as the Nurse.” Brienne chuckled. She had heard a lot of stories about Bronn, who had been one of Jaime’s best friends at school.

Just then, the lights came down and the curtains opened to reveal a street in Verona. However, the show did not start immediately, as Loras himself came out, dressed in what could only be described as a Cher tribute act costume, complete with Clare Danes style angel wings.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Loras said, “I regret to announce that due to an unfortunate outbreak of greyscale, Jorah Mormont will not be playing Paris this evening.”

There was a groan from the audience.

“Instead, we have managed to enlist the services of a shining local talent as a replacement. Will you all put your hands together for him, as he was only informed of his promotion this afternoon. Please thank… Podrick Payne.”

Jaime’s mouth opened in shock, “I didn’t know Pod could act.”

As it turned out, Pod couldn’t act. The play had several highlights, but foremost amongst them was Podrick’s insistence on delivering every line in a flat monotone, so much so that when Romeo stabbed Paris, it only seemed that Paris was mildly inconvenienced rather than mortally wounded.

The general sense that the whole thing was descending into a farce were not helped by the fact that Jaime got a fit of the giggles every time Tybalt came on the stage. In the interval, Jaime told Brienne that was because he was being played by Ramsay Bolton, who had recently been released from a high security prison on the condition he commit himself to the community.

“Apparently, he’s found a new lease of life in amateur dramatics,” said Jaime, through his laughter.

“What a heart-warming story,” said Brienne sincerely, “don’t mock him, you cruel bastard.”

The jewel in the proverbial crown, however, was Romeo and Juliet’s death scene. It was staged in tribute to Baz Luhrmann’s seminal film, and consequently it saw Renly march on stage in a full suit of armour, before lying next to his lady love, who at some point in the second act had transformed from Cher into Madonna.

Renly lifted his vial of poison. “A dateless bargain to engrossing death. Here’s to my love,” he said, before drinking it and laying down beside Loras, who woke up two seconds later, dramatic shock contorting his face.

“Poison? Drunk all and not one drop to help me after? I’ll kiss thy lips. Happly some poison doth yet hang on them.”

Jaime started giggling again when the kiss that Juliet planted on Romeo’s lips passed the ten second mark, and by the time they were still kissing with tongues a whole forty seconds later Jaime was in silent hysterics.

“Shhh,” said Brienne, “this bit is very moving…”

Unfortunately, Loras had decided to cut the moving ending that Brienne remembered from her GCSEs for a whole cast singalong to Bananarama’s _Venus_. Consequently, by the time Podrick had begun a very awkward improvised dance solo while miming along to _I’m your Venus, I’m your fire, your desire_ , Jaime’s face was pressed into Brienne’s shoulder in a vain attempt to stop himself roaring with laughter.

* * *

 

“What the fuck was that all about?” said Jaime, after he had managed to control his laughter long enough to sit down with their drinks at a table in the bar at _The Gate_ after the show had finished.

"What do you mean _what the fuck was that all about_?” laughed Brienne, “It was William Shakespeare’s _Romeo and Juliet_ , you know, one of the most famous plays in English literature?”

“I know that, wench,” said Jaime, “but what I don’t get is why Juliet was played by a bloke, or why they danced to Britney’s _Toxic_ at the Capulet Ball?”

Brienne tried to give it serious consideration it for a moment. What had motivated Loras’ seemingly crazy artistic choices? “Well, I think the gender blind casting was a commentary on the liminal spaces between human bodies, related to a broader question highlighted by the play of what role human agency plays in regard to destiny. Is the fault in our stars? Or in our souls? Loras tried to reimagine this in relation to our own bodies – what role does the occupation of our male or female forms play in determining our fate?”

And then she paused, considering the second part of Jaime’s statement. “And I think the choice of popular music served not only to invite the audience more readily into an understanding of a text that sometimes seems archaic, but also served as an offer to ruminate on the use of anachronism in modern theatre as well as in the original Shakespeare.”

Jaime smiled. “Sometimes, wench, I don’t know what’s going to come out of your mouth next.”

“I think that’s the pot calling the kettle black, Mr Lannister,” she laughed.

Just at that moment, their conversation was interrupted by a wall of Chanel No. 5 perfume and tell-tale click of six inch stilettos. Cersei sat down next to Brienne, flicking her hair as she went. “Well that was a load of crap,” she said, “some of Myrcella and Tommen’s shows have been better.”

“It wasn’t a _load of crap_ , Cersei,” said Jaime, wearily. “It was _Romeo and Juliet_.”

“Oh really?” Cersei drawled. “Could you please give me a reason, then, other than Loras Tyrell’s ego, that is, why Juliet was played by a man?”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “I thought it was quite obvious. The gender blind casting was a commentary on the liminal spaces between human bodies, related to a broader question highlighted by the play of what role human agency plays in regard to destiny.”

Brienne spluttered into her drink.

Cersei turned from Jaime to Brienne and back again, looking as if she smelt something in the air. “I wouldn’t even be here if Father hadn’t suggested that _Lannisters_ sponsor the damn play, and that was only in order to keep the Baratheon’s filthy hands off it. Oh, speak of the devil.”

Cersei had turned her emerald eyes to the entrance to the bar, through which two people had just entered the room. The first was a very tall, thin man with leathery skin and dark blue eyes, and the second a very striking pale woman with fiery red hair. The couple crossed the room, joining Renly and Loras who were already perched together at a table.

At the sight of them, Cersei glowered, “because of course Stannis and his whore would be cosying up to Loras Tyrell. You know he’s a social worker at Casterly Council, don’t you? Because he was buggering Renly, I bet he gave Robert all the details on the council’s findings on me and the kids.”

“Cersei!” said Jaime, indignantly, “you can’t speak like that.”

“Yes, I can,” she spat. “I just did.” As if to spite him, she then picked up Jaime’s drink and took a swig of it. “Don’t you think it’s wrong that my children don’t live with their _own mother_ but with Stannis over in that godawful house of his? Why have I been labelled as an alcoholic when he so blatantly cheats on his own wife with that hussy?” She downed Jaime’s drink, before looking at the red woman with particular venom. “I don’t even know what his whore’s name is.”

“I believe her name is Melisandre,” said Jaime, “she works in some sort of retail job I think.”

“ _Retail_?” hissed Cersei. “Well, of course.”

Realising she was losing Jaime to this stupid conversation with his sister, Brienne was about to make an interjection, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning around, she found herself looking into the eyes of the red headed girl who had played Mercutio.

“Hello, are you Sergeant Tarth?”

“Yes, that’s me.” The girl looked pleased about that.

“My name is Sansa Stark. Can I speak to you for a moment?” she asked, “it’s about my sister, Arya.”

Suddenly intrigued, Brienne agreed, and left Jaime and Cersei at the table to go and talk to Sansa in a corner.

“How can I help you?” asked Brienne.

“I just wanted to say thank you for the talk that you gave about careers in the Police Service at Arya’s school a couple of weeks ago. It has really inspired my sister.”

Brienne couldn’t quite imagine that, but nevertheless blushed with pride. “Thank you.”

Sansa smiled, “no, it’s you I should be thanking. Arya has had a very tough time of late, what with my father’s disappearance and my mother’s illness. Would you mind if I had your contact details? I think it would be helpful for Arya to have someone to talk to about things – someone who is not her sister, I mean."

“Of course,” smiled Brienne.

Just as Brienne had typed her number into Sansa’s phone, Jaime was beside them. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “If I don’t take Cersei home now, she’ll have a fistfight with Stannis before the evening is over, break one of the heels on her shoes in the process, and then go nuclear.”

Brienne felt a little sad but knew the alternative would probably lead to an arrest or two. “Okay. Thank you for coming, I really enjoyed myself.”

“Me too, wench,” he said.

“Goodbye buddy,” she said, picking up on his earlier expressed love of synonyms.

“Goodbye chum,” he responded.

“Goodbye pal.”

Jaime paused, a smile curling across his lips. “Goodbye friend.”

Before she knew quite what had happened, she had thrown her arms round his neck, as if to cling onto this Jaime who had been hiding himself from her all week. In a moment, he had reciprocated, and she heard him sigh as his body relaxed against hers. She didn’t quite realise that they had been hugging for longer than what was entirely socially acceptable until Sansa Stark let out a little cough behind her, and Brienne was compelled to remove her arms from around him.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow, wench.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, everyone will be relieved to know that I have finally finished my digression into character and relationship development I have been on for the last few chapters, and have finally got back onto Hot Fuzz's main plot! This chapter was a bit of silly fun, but I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> One of my lovely commenters has requested a Jaime POV for this story. My plan was to do the entire thing from Brienne's POV, but I was just wondering if a Jaime POV would be something people would be interested in? I was thinking maybe a couple of one shots. 
> 
> Next chapter... Casterly is rocked by events that change the sleepy town forever...


	10. Decaffeinated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things change in Casterly, forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm literally lying on the floor in shock at all your wonderful comments and kudos. I am so glad you are enjoying it, and please give me MORE! As ever, they keep me inspired to write :)
> 
> This time - check the archive warnings.

When Brienne arrived home from the play, she fell asleep quickly, exhausted by too much happiness. Not only was everything okay with Renly again, she had spent all evening with Jaime, laughing and joking and smiling. It all seemed so far removed from the confused couple of days after Margaery’s party.

It all came to a very swift end when Brienne’s phone rang in the early hours of the morning. It was Jaime.

“Hey Jaime, what’s…”

“You need to come down to the station,” he said, his voice serious. “There’s been an accident. We’ll tell you everything when you get here.”

Brienne quickly got into her uniform – half sleepy, half concerned – and called herself a cab. For the whole journey she was tense and confused, and the feeling only heightened when she arrived at the station. The whole team was there; everyone, that is, except Margaery.

The moment she entered Jaime was at her side. “We need…” However, before he could say any more, Tywin came out of his office.

“Officers,” he said, “there has been a traffic accident…”

“Traffic collision…” Brienne corrected under her breath.

“… along the dual carriageway between Lannisport and Casterly. Around midnight, a silver Mercedes driven by Loras Tyrell went off the road at some speed, killing himself and his passenger instantly. The ambulance and the coroner have been called, and we must now go and attend to the scene…”

Brienne was no longer listening to what Tywin was saying. She looked round desperately. Margaery’s absence was now not just noticeable but conspicuous; her brother was dead, of course she wasn’t here. And then there was the passenger…

The look in Jaime’s eyes told her everything she needed to know.

“Renly…” was all she could stammer, as Jaime took her in his arms for the second time in twelve hours.

* * *

 

The scene of the collision was something out of a film. Loras’ car was a wreck, but mercifully the bodies had already been removed. The huge WELCOME TO CASTERLY sign that Brienne had driven past on her first day in the village was covered in blood, and it seemed very clear to her that Loras must have hit it at some speed.

She felt Jaime’s fingers on the back of her arm. “You don’t have to stay. I can talk to my father, I can…”

“And say what?” said Brienne quietly. “I’m here to do my job. _Renly_ would have wanted me to do my job.”

“Of course,” said Jaime, his face alight with something that looked like pride. “I’d expect nothing else.”

Working with Ilyn, Brienne and Jaime cordoned off the site of the collision and arranged for a line of cones to be placed down the centre of the road, so as to reduce traffic down to a single lane to avoid congestion. As the sun came up, Brienne was able to see the scene more clearly. Apart from the blood, the road seemed immaculately clean. She could only watch as Ilyn walked up and down the cordoned off area, taking photos. Maybe it was just the shock, but there was something wrong about this – Brienne could feel it in her gut.

Only when the Hound came round with flagons of tea did she realise there was something, or someone, else missing from the scene.

“Where are the Robbs?” she asked snappishly, “they are the detectives. Shouldn’t they be here, detecting? Why did they stay at the station?”

The Hound shrugged, “The Chief thought it was best not to. It was only a car accident after all.”

“Collision,” said Brienne, once again, “but how do we know that? How do we know what we think we know unless the Robbs do their jobs?”

The Hound shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m just telling you what the Chief told me. It was an accident.”

“ _Collision_ ,” said Brienne, more forcefully.

“Why do you keep saying that?” asked Jaime, suddenly. “Does it matter what official guidelines say? Does it matter whether it was an accident or a collision, really, when two people have died?”

Brienne shook her head, exasperatedly. “Of course, it matters, because an accident implies there is no one to blame.”

* * *

 

Jaime and Brienne stayed at the site of the collision all morning, as Tywin had tasked them with being in charge of the diverted traffic. Most people drove past without comment, just wide-eyed expressions of shock and horror. Brienne knew it was just normal human curiosity, but for the first time she realised how horribly intrusive and gross it was.

However, none of those horrified stares were as bad as the reaction of a certain driver. A sickening feeling arose in Brienne’s stomach when she saw the personalised number plate of the red Ferrari: CER5EI. As she wheeled her window down, Brienne could see Cersei Lannister was already looking too immaculately beautiful for this early in the morning to be in possession of a real emotion. When she drew level with Brienne and Jaime, she said, “for never was there a story of more woe. Than this of Juliet and his Romeo.”

Brienne had to bite her tongue to prevent herself saying something vicious. “What?”

Cersei gave a little smirk, “Loras and Renly. _Such a tragedy_.”

Brienne felt Jaime’s hand brush against her wrist. “Ms Lannister,” she continued, “could you tell me how you knew the identity of the persons involved?”

Cersei shrugged, “You know how it is, news travels fast.” With that, she put her foot down on the accelerator, driving away with such speed that Ilyn had to jump at least ten foot to avoid being run over.

Tears were in Brienne’s eyes before she could say anything, but she felt her unstated questions answered by Jaime’s hand, which was suddenly holding hers.

“Don’t let her upset you,” he said. “She is not worth it.”

* * *

 

After Doctor Qyburn had concluded that there was no misadventure in the case of Loras and Renly’s deaths, their bodies were given back to their families, and funerals were swiftly arranged. In the week that led up to the funeral, Brienne only saw Margaery once, and on that occasion, Brienne had let Margaery cry away her grief. She had been given time off on compassionate grounds, but Margaery promised she would be back at work as soon as she could be. Staying away, locked in grief, would only leave her more miserable.

The funeral was held in Casterly’s Crematorium, which had a beautiful little chapel with rows of stained glass windows, illuminating the whole place with coloured light. Brienne thought Renly would have liked that.

Brienne hovered in a pew at the back on her own. She didn’t want to move further forward, as she felt that would intrude on the people who had really known and loved Renly and Loras. So, she stayed at the back, hovering in the shadows.

Expecting to have the pew to herself, she had put her handbag on the chair beside her, but found she had to move it when a familiar figure in a black suit appeared.

“Jaime,” said Brienne, surprised, “I didn’t think you would come. You didn’t really know Loras or Renly that well, did you?”

“Only a little,” he admitted. “Renly’s brother was married to my sister for some time, of course. But really I’m here to support you… and Margaery.”

“Thanks,” she said. “That’s very sweet.”

They stopped talking as the service started. Brienne could tell Margaery and Olenna had both had a big hand in organising the funeral, as not only did Olenna give a cracking speech that was both hilarious and heart-breaking about her grandson and his boyfriend, but the service concluded with a drag queen dressed as a Vegas showgirl singing Sinatra’s _My Way_. It was a perfect song for Renly.

_I’ve lived a life that’s full_

_I’ve travelled each and every highway_

_But more, much more than this_

_I did it my way._

Brienne could only look around at the other mourners – friends, family, colleagues – and realise what an outcast she was. She had only known Renly for a brief moment, yet in that time, he had improved her life considerably. She would miss him. Burying her face in her hands, she finally gave into the grief and loneliness that she had been pushing down for days, not wanting it to appear when she was needed to do her job.

Then suddenly, Brienne wasn’t alone. She felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking across, she saw Jaime, concern in his green eyes.

“Jaime,” was all she could bring herself to say as she finally let her tears overcome her. Reacting instantly, his hand ran along her back and looped around her shoulder, while his other arm pulled her against him. The only response was to wrap her own arms around his waist in turn and bury herself in his arms.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

As she sobbed on his shoulder, he stroked her hair and whispered sweet things.

* * *

 

“Drink,” insisted Jaime, slamming a huge bottle of red wine down beside her when they got to the wake at _The Inn at the Crossroads_.

“I don’t want to,” she said. “I’m grieving.”

“ _Drink_ ,” said Jaime again, pouring her a glass. “It’s the point of a wake. You had your chance to cry at the funeral – the wake is all about celebrating the life of the deceased. So, let’s _drink_.”

Jaime did not pour a drink for himself until Brienne had taken one suspicious sip from hers.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s not one of Margaery’s cocktails.”

His encouragement meant that she was bolder and took a bigger gulp, and then Jaime joined her in drinking.

“Better than cranberry juice?” Jaime asked.

She nodded, “better than cranberry juice.”

They stayed like that for some time, just sitting together, watching the other mourners go by. It was a strange mix of people; families, work colleagues, and extended groups of friends. Everybody else seemed to be huddled in little groups, so much so that Brienne felt the feeling of being an outsider rise once more.

“It feels so wrong, somehow,” said Brienne, “that I’m here mourning him.”

“Why?” asked Jaime.

Brienne took a big glug of wine as she tried to find the right words. “I only knew him a couple of months, and most of that time I couldn’t even see what was right in front of me. Everybody else here grew up with him, went to school with him, knew him at university… I’m just an intruder.”

Jaime reached across the table, taking his hand in hers. “Your feelings are just as valid as anybody else’s. If you are sad, be sad. No one can blame you for your emotions. _I_ don’t blame you.” Suddenly, he was looking very intently into her eyes. “We don’t get to choose who we love.”

She considered Jaime for a moment, confused at his expression.

“You think I loved him?” said Brienne.

Her answer caused him to look away and remove his hand. “You seemed pretty cut up at the party.”

Brienne found herself laughing. “It all seems so silly now. That crush disappeared as quickly as it had arrived once I found out he was gay. But we were friends… good friends. He was the first person in Casterly who was nice to me.”

Jaime was about to say something, when suddenly an arm scooped around his shoulders.

“Hey, babe.”

Suddenly Jaime and Pia were kissing in Brienne’s face, and Brienne was thinking about all the ways she could get Pia arrested in the next five seconds without being found personally culpable. 

At the intensity of Pia's kiss, Jaime moved away from her, while Pia kept attempting to attack his mouth. This resulted in Jaime’s words – “hello Pia” – being smushed against the onslaught of her lips.

“Hey _Pia_ ,” said Brienne, trying to get her attention away from Jaime.

Pia turned her pretty head. “Hi Brienne, I’m sorry for your loss.” The thought of Renly made Brienne’s stomach churn.

“Thanks.”

Brienne’s plan to distract Pia didn’t work for long, as soon the girl’s eyes were on Jaime again. “Just to let you know, I’ve just got off my shift. I know you didn’t really know Renly that well, so I was just wondering if you wanted to come for dinner with me? We could go to Lannisport.”

Pia was looking at him expectantly, but it seemed as if Jaime couldn’t return her gaze. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking slightly awkward. “Sorry Pia, I need to stay here with Brienne. Rain check?”

Pia shot a look at Brienne, before turning back to him, a little crestfallen. “Okay. Rain check.” She looped her handbag over her shoulder. “You know where I am if you want me,” she smiled, stroking his cheek before giving him a little wave and heading for the exit.

When Brienne turned back to Jaime, it was almost as if she could still see Pia’s handprints on him – Pia’s perfect, heavily manicured handprints. Looking down at her own pathetically bitten nails, Brienne realised that Jaime had had to put up with a great hulking beast snivelling on his shoulder all afternoon. She didn’t want to intrude on his goodwill any longer, so she got up to leave.

“Sit down, wench,” he said, grasping at her arm. “We’re talking, aren’t we?” The expression in his eye was similar to the bruised look he had worn nearly every day since Margaery’s party, and, wanting to make sure their re-established intimacy continued, Brienne retook her seat. As if to make her stay there, Jaime refilled her glass, which Brienne took a large swig from almost instantly.

“Why are you going out with Pia?” asked Brienne quickly, the last word catching in her throat.

Jaime laughed, “what was that facial expression all about?”

“What facial expression?”

Jaime’s eyes suddenly seemed accusing. “You just looked like you chewed a wasp when you said her name.”

“No, I didn’t,” said Brienne, defensively, “I’m just concerned, that’s all. It all seems very quick.”

“What can I say?” he shrugged, “she finds me irresistible.”

Brienne’s mind was suddenly polluted with images of Jaime and Pia together; Pia running her hands through Jaime’s hair, Pia’s hands on Jaime’s chest, Jaime and Pia kissing on a beach. Brienne wasn’t quite sure why they were on a beach; she just knew it looked very nice.

“Everybody needs someone, don’t they?” said Jaime. “And Pia _likes_ me.”

He didn’t seem to have anything else to say on the matter, so Brienne tried some further digging.

“Is that the only reason?” Brienne said, slightly relieved that Jaime had not expressed some deep attraction to his date.

He shrugged, “She’s a pretty distraction.”

 _Unlike me,_ Brienne thought.

* * *

 

In spite of the strange uneasiness that had developed between them since Pia’s appearance, Brienne spent the rest of the night with Jaime, in commiseration, in celebration, in grief. That peculiar concoction of emotions meant they talked in a way they had never really done before. Usually it was all silly jokes and snide comments, but this time she found herself telling him about her childhood, about Galladon and her father, and he told her of the years at Casterly Rock with Cersei and Tyrion. The time flew by so fast, and she didn’t notice that they had shared five bottles of wine between them. She could feel the effect the alcohol had on her, but she didn’t care; she wanted to be less emotional, she wanted to be happier, she wanted to be less inhibited. Drinking more and more, she only stopped when Masha came to kick them out when the pub closed at eleven.

“Jaime,” said Masha, a rather stern look on her face. “Can you make sure Sergeant Tarth gets home safe? She’s the only competent person on the Police Force in this town, and I don’t want her falling over into her own vomit.”

“Police _Service_ ,” corrected Jaime, picking Brienne’s coat off the back of her chair and holding it out for her to stick her arms into. “And you don’t have to worry, I’ll get her home safely.”

He was true to his word. Although Brienne spent most of the walk home babbling, laughing, crying, and tripping over her own feet, he made sure she didn’t end up in the gutter, and even carried her handbag for half of the journey. When they got back to Brienne’s flat, she thought the best way to gain entry was to try knocking.

“We can’t get into your flat without keys,” said Jaime patiently, “there’s no use just banging on the door.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Brienne, overawed by Jaime’s wisdom. Digging around in her bag, she eventually found her keys, but it took an extra bit of fumbling before she managed to open the door. On entering the flat, she would have tripped over the welcome mat had Jaime not been there to hold her up, and she was momentarily stuck in her coat until he helped her shrug it off her shoulders.

“I’m so pissed…” she sang, throwing herself down on the sofa.

The corner of Jaime’s mouth twitched in amusement. “I’m not letting you back on the wine again. It’s cranberry juice from now on.”

“You _ain’t_ the boss of me,” said Brienne, giggling, chucking her feet on the arm of the chair.

“I _am_ the boss of you while you are acting like a drunken idiot, Masha said so,” he said. “What ever happened to that prim and proper Sergeant Tarth who tried to arrest half the village the first night she was here?”

“She drank too much WINE!” sang Brienne.

Jaime scoffed at that, before momentarily disappearing into the kitchen. She heard the familiar click of the kettle being turned on before he returned carrying a big glass of water. “If you don’t drink some water, you’ll have a terrible hangover tomorrow,” he said. “Take it from a hardened drinker like me.”

“I’ll drink some water,” she promised, closing her eyes.

She opened them again when she felt Jaime had started undoing the zips on her ankle boots, removing them with some difficulty with his one hand. Trying to be awkward, she kept rolling her ankles, making it hard for him.

“You are so _irritating_ sometimes,” he said, grinning.

“I try to be,” she laughed. “I’ve got to get my revenge occasionally.”

Once he’d finished with the boots, he took off her socks. She stopped moving then, because she could feel the pleasant warmth of his fingers on her skin. It was so comforting. When he finished, he slipped the socks into the boots and went to put them by the front door, while she tucked her feet close to her body to try and replicate the heat that had been lost by the absence of his hand.

She watched him silently as he began to move around the flat. First, he went to get a blanket from her room, which he came and carefully tucked over her, before going to the kitchen and making her a cup of tea, which he placed by the glass of water.

“You are treating me like a baby…” she mumbled.

“No, I’m not,” he said softly, “I was just making sure you got home safe, safe and happy. I didn’t want you to be alone in your grief.”

She wasn’t used to this nearness he was trying to cultivate between them, so Brienne tried a trick he often used; feeling his vulnerability, she caught it and turned it into a joke. “You are treating me _exactly_ like a baby. You’ve literally wrapped me up in a blanket and made me a hot drink. The only thing you haven’t done is kiss me goodnight.”

She realised what she had said the second it came out of her mouth.

A silence descended between them, the most profound one there had ever been since she had known him.

“You don’t want me to kiss you,” he said, his voice gruff.

“How do you know what I want?” she asked warily.

He shrugged, “I’m perceptive, I guess.”

The silence started to cling to them again, and Brienne knew she would have to kick him out before things started getting horribly, horribly awkward.

“Well, I suppose you better be going,” said Brienne, getting to her feet and shuffling towards the door, still wrapped in the blanket. “It’s getting late.”

He nodded. “I guess you are right.”

Jaime followed her to the door, stepping outside as she opened it for him. Instead of immediately making his getaway, however, he turned back to face her.

“I’ll suppose I’ll see you at work. Remember to drink some water.”

“Yes,” she said, “I will. Goodnight Jaime.”

Even though she had said goodnight, he still didn’t move. She looked into his eyes, like she had many times since she started working in Casterly, but she had never appreciated how amazingly green they were before. Momentarily lost, she hadn’t noticed Jaime had moved until his left hand was on her right cheek. Her breath caught in her throat. The beginning of a smile danced on his face and then he leaned in, pressing his lips lightly against the cheek that remained uncovered by his hand, his stubble scratching at her chin. When he pulled away, he looked into her eyes once more.

“Goodnight Brienne.”

_That’s the first time he has ever called me by my name…_

He stepped away, and she could only stare at him as he walked down the corridor. Watching him, she refused to shut the door of her flat until all sight and sound of him had disappeared, but even then, she didn’t move from her position immediately behind the door.

 _Nope,_ she thought, _nope._ _This is not happening. You are drunk. You are sad._

She took a deep breath.

_My cheek is not tingling where he just kissed me._

_It’s not._

_It’s really, really not._

_…_

_Oh fuck, it is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides behind the sofa* I'm really, really sorry. Hot Fuzz told me to do it.
> 
> In compensation, I gave you a tiny bit less oblivious Brienne.
> 
> I know this got fairly angsty this time, but I promise that normal transmission will resume next time in the terms of the hilarity stakes. I hope you still enjoyed it, but please let me know what you think with a comment.
> 
> Next time... Brienne has to face up to her most recent epiphany...


	11. Cardiovascular Fitness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of Jaime's jokes leaves Brienne confused for a whole day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I am flabbergasted at the comments and kudos. Please keep them coming, and I love that you are enjoying my very silly story!

Alcohol.

She was blaming the alcohol.

She had been drunk after the wake, so drunk she would have believed absolutely anything. That’s why she’d got that wacky idea that she fancied Jaime Lannister stuck in her head.

When Brienne arrived at the station on Monday, her head somewhat swimming, she found Jaime standing by her desk, a cup of tea in his hand.

“Good morning, wench.”

She swallowed thickly. How had she never noticed before that that cocky smile of his was ridiculously sexy?

“Good morning PC Lannister,” she said, scooting past him so he wouldn’t see the ugly blush that was settling on her cheeks. Her plan failed.

“Wench, it’s just turned nine o’clock, I’ve barely said hello to you, and you are already blushing.”

“I’ve just jogged here from my flat,” she insisted, sitting down and turning on her computer.

“Why?”

“You may spend your days consuming so many _Nobbly-Bobblys_ you are ninety five percent ice cream, but some of us care about our cardiovascular fitness.”

“Oh, I care about cardiovascular fitness,” he said, leaning over her so his breath tickled her ear, “but there are much more exciting ways to maintain good heart health.”

“Such as?”

He chuckled, withdrawing. “As I said, it’s only nine o’clock. I might give you a heart attack if I spell it out for you.” Giving her shoulder a brief squeeze, he headed off in the direction of Tywin’s office, swigging his tea.

She had no idea what he meant.

* * *

 

Things were a little chaotic at the station that day, because not only was Margaery still on her compassionate leave, but Jon had left a letter in the reception declaring he was going to Iceland for a couple of days to go and meet his “Ice Queen” Ygritte. Consequently, a highly irritated Tywin had to redo the patrol groups and decided to send Ilyn and the Hound off together for the morning, keeping Brienne and Jaime at the station.

“Jaime, you can man the front desk in Jon’s absence,” said Tywin. “And Sergeant Tarth, you can use the morning to do some paperwork. You can swap over with the Sergeant Clegane and Sergeant Payne at lunchtime.”

Leaving Jaime to go to her computer felt a little strange. Since moving to Casterly, she had spent nearly every working day with him in some capacity, and it was what made her love her job so much. It was also a bit of a relief, though; she wouldn’t have to sit next to him all day, weighing up her own heart every five seconds.

It also gave her a little time to hide her own ignorance. Making sure none of her colleagues could see her, she opened up google and typed “fun cardiovascular activities”. The search engine provided her a list of all the usual suspects – skipping, dancing, power walking, boxing – but none of them seemed to be the mystery pastime that Jaime was referring to.

She was forced to give up after five minutes of fruitless searching, although it was not all bad, as she had found an interesting advert for a new daily fitness class starting at the civic centre. Taking down the details, she messaged Margaery, asking if she wanted to join her at the session after work. She thought it might be good for her friend to take a bit of physical exercise. The response came quickly:

 _Margaery:_            Sounds good. I’ll drive.

Brienne then decided to check her emails. Apart from the usual, there was only one interesting message. It was from Tyrion.

_Dear Sergeant Tarth,_

_You may be interested to know I’ve just received the final report for the weapons you found on the border between Walder Frey and Meryn Trant’s properties. It seems most of the collection is between one and twenty years old and are all police issue (apart from the land mines). They were all in very good condition considering where you found them, which may indicate recent use. I’ve attached the full report._

_Best, Tyrion_

Brienne opened the document and scanned a few pages, but two words from Tyrion’s email kept sticking out – _recent use_. That stirred something in her – she wasn’t sure what – but that something then compelled her to open up the photos Ilyn had taken of the site of Renly and Loras’ collision on the system.

And then she saw it: the thing she had missed.

There were no skid marks.

Apparently, in spite of the fact that both driver and passenger had hurtled round the bend in the road at such speed it had killed them on impact with the WELCOME TO CASTERLY sign, neither Loras nor Renly had thought to apply the brakes, or swerve the car, or do anything in particular to prevent their fate.

Brienne had the entire set of photos Ilyn had taken printed so she could see them clearly. She checked again and again, circling places where she thought it would be natural to see tyre tracks. Once she had been through all of them, she put them all into a big pile and marched them up to the Robbs’ office.

The Robbs were clearly not doing any detecting when Brienne arrived. Robb Arryn was asleep, while Robb Stark was inspecting his face in a mirror, his fingers running over a purpling bruise on his cheek.

Brienne slammed the photos down on the desk, which woke Robb Arryn up.

“There were no skid marks,” she announced. “Don’t you think that is odd?”

Neither Robb looked over. Robb Arryn just looked round distractedly, still bleary-eyed, while Robb Stark continued to look in the mirror.

“Excuse me!” she almost shouted, “can I have your attention please? I think I’ve noticed something important about the Tyrell-Baratheon deaths.”

Robb Stark spun round. “Can’t you see I’m injured, Sergeant Sympathetic?”

The bruise looked even nastier up close. Wanting to win him round, Brienne thought it was best to ask. “How did you do that?”

A dark look came across Robb’s face as he sat down in his chair, but Other Robb answered happily. “He went to his ex-Roslin’s rehearsal dinner up at _The Twins_ , started trying to declare his love. He got punched, didn’t he?”

Robb Stark reacted by chucking a pen at his partner. Clearly wanting to change the subject, he turned back to Brienne. “What have you got to say about the Tyrell-Baratheon accident?”

“ _Collision_ ,” corrected Brienne, for what felt like the thousandth time. “There were no skid marks at the scene. Don’t you think it’s a little strange that Loras Tyrell would lose control of the car and not think to apply the brakes?” Robb and Robb shot a look at each other, but when neither spoke, Brienne continued. “If there are no skid marks it follows that for three hundred yards the driver and the passenger made no attempt to prevent their fate.”

Robb Stark shrugged his shoulders. “There could be any reason for that. Perhaps Loras was drunk. He had just got off the stage after all. Maybe he had had some drinks to keep up the high?”

Brienne grew exasperated. “We have no evidence of that. Loras seemed fine when I last saw him, and we’d have to have an autopsy to confirm if he had alcohol in his bloodstream, which the Chief didn’t authorise.” She paused, looking at Robert Arryn. “And even if Loras was drunk and not paying attention, are you telling me that Renly wouldn’t have tried to grab the wheel when he saw what was happening?”

Robb Stark looked momentarily intrigued, but Other Robb said, “maybe Romeo and Juliet were _both_ drunk?”

Brienne suddenly grew very angry, furious at the Robbs’ disinterest in trying to find out what had really happened to Renly and Loras.

“Look at these!” she said, shoving the photos in front of Robb Arryn. “And try detecting something for once in your life!”

* * *

 

After lunch, Brienne found herself in the car with Jaime, parked along the High Street. Jaime had declared that he was bored and decided to start a game of word association. Brienne agreed to go along with it, if only because it distracted her from the lock of gold hair which kept falling into his eyes, which he would repeatedly push back.

“I’ll start,” said Jaime, crossing his arms over his chest. “Love.”

“Friendship,” responded Brienne, cautiously.

“Companionship.”

“Time.”

“Time?” interrupted Jaime, “what’s that got to do with anything?”

Brienne shrugged. “Companionship is about time, especially the time you make for each other.”

Jaime shook his head, “that’s the weakest link I’ve ever heard, but I’ll let you have it because I like you.”

A warm feeling pooled in her belly.

“Watch,” began Jaime.

“ _Clever_ ,” said Brienne, “Look.”

“Eyes.”

“Blue,” responded Brienne, thinking of her own.

Jaime turned to look at her. “Pretty.”

“Woman.”

“Girlfriend.”

“Pia,” said Brienne. The word was out of her mouth before she could think about it, and she found herself blushing furiously. “I mean…” said Brienne, “you probably haven’t made it official or anything yet…”

“You are not allowed to use any proper nouns in this game,” said Jaime, stiffly, looking back out of the window, “that’s cheating.”

She didn’t understand him sometimes.

“And anyway,” he said, “she’s not my girlfriend.”

“No?” asked Brienne, a sliver of hope burning in her chest.

“No,” he said. “I ended it.”

Brienne was confused. Everything had seemed fine between them at the wake two days before. Hadn’t he talked about her being pretty?

“Why?” she said, “you seemed happy with her on Saturday. When did you end it?”

He turned away from her, looking out at the High Street. “I made the decision while walking back from yours after the wake. I realised I’d never feel for her the way she wanted me to. It didn’t seem fair to lead her on. I told her yesterday.” He said it so matter-of-factly, as if it had been easy for him to decide that Pia was never going to win his love, and therefore she shouldn’t take up much of his time.

“It might have grown,” suggested Brienne. “It was only a new relationship.”

He shook his head. “No, it wouldn’t have. I only have so much room in my heart, and it’s all occupied at the moment.”

That was about the most depressing thing he could have said. If Pretty Pia couldn’t grow on him, what hope did hulking, ugly Brienne Tarth have? She decided to remain silent, not wanting to discuss this anymore.

Jaime turned to face her; his green eyes suddenly intense. “Aren’t you going to ask me…”

However, he was interrupted by a loud beeping sound and the noise of swerving tyres. Looking up, she saw Arya Stark, her face wet with tears, running across the road in front of a car that had screeched to a halt. Brienne was out of the car before Jaime had time to say anything else.

“Hey, Arya!” called Brienne, jogging towards her.

Arya stopped running, even though there was mistrust in her eyes.

“What do you want?”

“To talk,” said Brienne. “What’s wrong?”

Arya looked around shiftily. “Not here. People might be watching us.”

Jaime had padded up after Brienne in a moment. “Is everything alright?” There was such concern in his eyes that it made Brienne’s heart flutter.

“We are just going to have a chat with Arya. She’s a little upset.”

Jaime led them to a little café which Arya only agreed to because her friend Hot Pie worked shifts there occasionally. _Biscuits for All Occasions_ was owned by Jorah Mormont, the one-time amateur actor and full-time baker who had supposedly come back from the continent after a love affair gone wrong. He had thrown himself into cakes to get himself over the heartbreak.

“I’ll go get us some tea,” said Jaime, once they had sat down, removing himself from the conversation so Brienne could get a moment alone with Arya.

When he had gone, Arya turned to Brienne. “Lommy has gone.”

“Lommy?” said Brienne, a little confused, “who is Lommy?”

“The blond kid I was with on the first night you arrived,” said Arya. “He’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. I’m not a police officer.” She ran her hand nervously through her dyed hair, before looking over her shoulder and back and Brienne. “But wherever it is… it’s not somewhere good.”

Brienne got out her notebook, trying to take everything down. “Tell me everything you know.”

Arya snivelled. “Three days ago, Lommy was shoplifting from _Lannisters_. He’s a foster home kid, he’s got no one to get him nice things, and sometimes he just wants them for himself. Gendry and I were waiting outside the shop for him, but when he didn’t appear, we figured he’d been caught by you lot, so we got out of there.”

Brienne thought back to three days earlier – the day before Renly and Loras’ funeral. She had been on shift with Jaime, but Brienne had been so distracted by grief that he had done most of their tasks that day; the paperwork, the speed gun, everything. Brienne thought she would have remembered an arrest, though.

“And…”

“Neither me, Gendry, or Hot Pie have heard from him since. He’s in contact with us all the time usually – he’s the Meme King, he sends one nearly every minute – but since then, we’ve had nothing. It’s not like him.”

Brienne jotted down everything Arya said. “Has he got any family? Any other friends who might know where he has gone?”

“No, not really,” said Arya. “His mum is permanently drugged up in a squat in Lannisport, and he doesn’t know who his dad is. As for friends, Gendry, Hot Pie, and me are all he has. I promise he would have been in touch.”

At that moment, Jaime returned to the table with a tray. He had bought three cups of tea, as well as some of Jorah’s biscuits, all of which were in different shapes. Two were pieces of gingerbread in the shape of animals, a wolf and a lion respectively, but the last was a big piece of heart-shaped shortbread with a red filigree pattern in icing. When Arya made a lunge for the heart, Jaime swatted her hand away and said, “that one is for Brienne.”

Brienne shot him a look that she hoped conveyed that bickering with teenagers over biscuits was not something befitting a police constable of the Casterly Constabulary, but he only replied with one of his enchanting smiles. “That one is yours,” he maintained, putting it in front of her. She didn’t know why he was getting so insistent about biscuits.

Arya had just started nibbling at the wolf’s ear when Brienne said, “You should report this. Not to the police, not yet. There may be a reason you don’t know about that he could have broken contact. Maybe it’s as simple as a lost phone. Talk to his social worker, the carers at the children’s home. Someone will help. Then bring it to the police.”

Arya shook her head. “I don’t trust any of them. They don’t care about him. They think he is some useless druggie who is only going to end up on the scrap heap.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” said Brienne.

“It _is_ true,” insisted Arya. “They won’t care about Lommy. Nobody cared when my dad, a police sergeant, disappeared, so why would they care about a sixteen year old boy who lives in a children’s home?”

Brienne went to say something, but it was Jaime who spoke. “We did care about your father. He was a good colleague, a good friend and we looked everywhere for him. He was an exceptional officer – perhaps a bit too exceptional. He never let anything go. I imagine, even now, he is out there chasing the man he believed killed Robert Baratheon.”

Arya looked like she was going to cry. “Then you’re an idiot if you believe that, PC Lannister, just like Mum and Robb and Sansa are.” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. “My dad’s not anywhere, because he’s dead. Someone _did_ murder Robert, and my dad found out, and they got to him.”

Jaime began to argue, “you can’t say that. Evidence could still turn up, things could…”

She ignored him and turned to Brienne. “After your talk at school, I realised I want to be a police officer one day,” she said, admiration shining in her eyes. “I want to be a police officer so I can find out what happened to my dad, so I can find Lommy, and so I can correct all the mistakes that have been made.”

Brienne looked at Arya, “what mistakes?”

Arya suddenly got to her feet, not wanting to talk any more. Wrapping up the wolf biscuit and putting it in her pocket, she whispered to Brienne, “look for Lommy, please. You’re the only one I trust.”

With that, she was gone.

* * *

 

It had been a long day, a _very_ long day.

It felt as if Brienne couldn’t concentrate at all, as her mind kept jumping from one topic to another and back again. Why were there no skid marks? Why did the guns found on Walder Frey’s property indicate recent use? Where had Lommy gone? Jaime’s dimples when he smiled. Why did nobody care at the children’s home? Had Loras been drunk? The sound of Jaime’s laugh. Had Lommy really been arrested? What was the most fun cardiovascular exercise? Had _Renly_ been drunk? Why had Jaime suddenly dumped Pia?

Feeling thoroughly defeated by the day, Brienne was actually looking forward to going to the fitness class with Margaery, excited about the opportunity to burn off some tension. When she arrived in the pink Mini Cooper, Brienne flung her arms around her friend, and asked her how she was holding up.

“As well as can be expected,” said Margaery. “It’s good to get out of the house. Loras is everywhere in there.”

The room was already fairly busy when they arrived. Brienne’s heart fell ever so slightly when she saw the far wall was covered in a huge mirror, reflecting every single person in the class. Brienne would find it difficult to enjoy herself if she had to look at herself prancing around constantly. However, that was not the end of it. Her heart almost dropped through the damn floor when she saw who had taken up the front and centre position in the room. Cersei Lannister, dressed head to toe in red designer sportswear, was in the middle of very gracefully doing the splits to warm herself up. Stretching herself up, she reached out her hands to grasp her left foot and then her right.

“Show off,” muttered Margaery.

Cersei must have heard that, because she looked up and turned to Brienne and Margaery, smiling at them in a way that betrayed a total disconnect between her mouth and eyes. “Oh look,” Cersei said, “it’s PC Plod and her little friend. I’m glad to see Casterly’s finest don’t just sit around all day eating cake with my brother.”

Brienne felt herself go a little red. Sitting around with Jaime was the best part of her day, and she didn’t like Cersei picking at it.

“It’s ice cream, _actually_ ,” said Margaery, “they sit around all day eating ice cream.”

Brienne knew that Margaery was only trying to help, but that was the worst thing she could have possibly said. Cersei scoffed. “That’s probably why Jaime’s looking so out of shape at the moment. He’s taking a walk on the ugly side with PC Plod here.”

Brienne looked at Cersei incredulously. Jaime out of shape? That was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. And even if he was, who cared? To Brienne, he was perfect in his imperfection.

Margaery almost snarled, “you’ve used that PC Plod joke twice now, Cersei, please try to be more original.”

Brienne extended a hand to Margaery, using Jaime’s words on the day of the collision. “Don’t let her upset you. She is not worth it.”

Luckily, at that moment, the nascent bitch off between Cersei and Margaery was interrupted by the arrival of Sansa.

“Hi Brienne. Hi Margaery,” she said, giving them both a happy grin that automatically served to decrease tension.

“Hi,” said Brienne. “Have you met my friend Shae?” Sansa said, turning to the dark haired woman standing beside her. The sight of Shae made Brienne’s heart fall even a fraction further, if that was possible. It would have been bad enough dancing next to Margaery in sight of a mirror, but Margaery, Cersei, Sansa, and now _Shae_? This was some kind of personal hell.

“No, I haven’t,” said Brienne, “but I’ve heard all about you. You’re Tyrion’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” said Shae, smiling, “going on two years.” Brienne could barely believe it. Shae was, in the immortal words of _Mean Girls_ , a regulation hottie. Although petite herself, she had at least a foot on Tyrion, and was graceful and lithe in every place that he was clumsy and waddling. It made no sense to Brienne.

There was a clap. “Ladies! Ladies! Please take your places.”

Brienne turned to see the instructor of the class enter. He was a short but slender man with a mass of black curls held back by a pink sweatband. Clearly not giving a shit how he looked, he was dressed head to toe in lime-green Lycra. Not wanting to be at the front, Brienne scrambled to the back of the room to stand next to Sansa. Cersei, Margaery, and Shae jostled for dominance at the front.

“My name is Syrio Forel,” the instructor said. “Welcome to the first session of my dance series: _How to be a Water Dancer_. Tonight, I will take you through a series of dance styles from many different cultures and countries, that can perfectly unlock your inner Water Dancer.”

“What’s a water dancer?” muttered Sansa.

“I don’t know,” Brienne said, “I think it sounds like someone who really needs to go for a piss.”

Sansa smiled at the joke, but in her mind, Brienne heard Jaime’s laughter.

The first song, which was apparently a “contemporary hit from Spain”, proved to be _Despacito_ , and Syrio had the whole class moving up and down the room doing the grapevine, taking four steps to one side before clapping and heading back in the other direction.

“One, two, three, FOUR.”

One time, he only took three steps while the whole class continued on and took a fourth. He shouted, “my words lied. My eyes and my body shouted out the truth, but you were not seeing. Pay attention ladies!”

Things only got really weird when Syrio put the Pussycat Dolls’ _Loosen Up My Buttons_ on full blast and had them all gyrating around the room. Cersei and Margaery were frantically competing for who could look like the most authentic stripper without actually taking their clothes off, but both were put to shame by Shae, who could throw her leg above her head with little effort. Sansa somehow had the ability to make Syrio’s most ridiculous dance moves look balletic, leaving Brienne the odd one out. In spite her attempts to look in any way alluring, Brienne could see in the mirror that she looked like a Thunderbird puppet having a fit.

_Jaime would die of laughter if he could see me now._

* * *

 

After the class, Syrio extracted promises from them all that they would return, and they all happily agreed. Brienne found she had to linger in the room for longer than anticipated, as Margaery had decided to have an impromptu stare off with Cersei, which she didn’t want to lose. Consequently, once they were back out in the car park, Brienne had to jog to catch up with Sansa.

“Hey Sansa, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Sansa turned, just as she tied her red hair up in a ponytail. “Sure. What’s up?”

“I had a little chat with Arya today…”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Oh no, she wasn’t going on about Lommy again, was she?”

Brienne nodded.

Sansa gave her a consoling look, before putting a hand on Brienne’s shoulder. “When she first mentioned it to me, I went up to the children’s home myself and asked about him. They said he does this all the time; runs away, deals some drugs, and comes back right as rain a few days later. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

Brienne furrowed her brow, “but don’t you think she might be right?”

Sansa shrugged. “If he’s not turned up in a few days, I’m sure they’ll have a look for him.” At that moment Margaery caught up with them, and Sansa turned her attention to her. “Are you coming to the session tomorrow, Margaery?” asked Sansa, moving towards her car.

“Yeah, definitely,” smiled Margaery, for what felt like the first time since Loras’ death. “I need to come back and have another go at whooping Cersei’s arse at dancing.”

“Ok,” laughed Sansa, “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“See you later,” said Brienne.

Brienne and Margaery giggled about the ridiculousness of the class all the way back to the car, and by the time Brienne had slipped into the passenger’s seat (which still had a very obviously broken window), she realised how much more relaxed she felt.

“I think that is the most fun I’ve ever had looking after my cardiovascular fitness,” beamed Brienne, clutching her aching sides.

“Oh, Brienne,” said Margaery, patting her shoulder, before starting up the car. “You are such an innocent.”

Brienne blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Margaery giggled. “Well, your description of that as the best time you’ve ever had of looking after your cardiovascular fitness just tells me you’ve never had a _really good shag_.”

And with that, Brienne finally got what Jaime meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, I'm sorry this is late. RL got to me! I'm also going to not be able to submit a chapter for you tomorrow, but there should be one with you on Monday. I hope this little slice of pie is enough to keep you going until then!


	12. Shadow Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne Tarth has had a very exhausting couple of weeks...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I am bowled over by the response to my stupid story. Please keep the kudos and comments coming - it makes me so happy to hear what you all think, especially as every time I upload I live in constant terror that none of it is funny! Your comments keep me inspired :)

For Brienne, the next few weeks were extremely exhausting.

For the most part, this was because Brienne had decided to conduct her own little investigation into Lommy Greenhands’ disappearance. As he had not been declared officially missing, Brienne could not access Casterly Constabulary’s significant resources, and was forced to use her free time and her own money in order to do so. Not only had she taken an independent statement from Gendry, she went up to the _Lannisters_ supermarket where he was last seen to ask the staff if they had spotted anything, and even went to the children’s home to ask the carers. However, in spite of all her best efforts, she had found nothing, and was slowly coming to the conclusion that she might have to give up.

Secondly, her quest to reopen the investigation into Renly and Loras’ deaths was proving as difficult as cutting cake with an orange. Despite her insistence that the Robbs investigate the photos from the scene of the collision once more, they seemed highly reluctant, and they dropped all pretence of caring when Tywin intervened and stated he thought it was a fruitless endeavour. In frustration, Brienne spent several more hours staring at those photos but, in the end, could see nothing more than she already had.

Thirdly, Brienne was getting much more exercise than usual as she was going to Syrio’s _Water Dancer Workout_ every evening with Margaery. While following along to Syrio’s more ridiculous routines, she’d also grown closer to Sansa and Shae, mainly in their valiant attempt to thoroughly eviscerate Cersei at dancing. The new group finally felt they’d had their victory when, several days in, the four women did a perfectly coordinated performance of _Gangnam Style_ which kicked Cersei to the curb.

The final reason for Brienne’s exhaustion, however, was probably the most vexatious, as Jaime’s little “cardiovascular exercise” quip seemed the first in a long line that were designed to confuse and torment her. When they had to arrest the drunk and disorderly Dontos Hollard one lunchtime for urinating on the town’s war memorial, Dontos had refused to go quietly, and Brienne had been forced to wrestle with him in order to get him in his handcuffs and shove him in the car. Jaime had watched silently the whole time, to the point that Brienne felt mildly annoyed he had not intervened.

Once Dontos was safely inside the car, she had leant against the door trying to catch her breath. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt Jaime’s hand on her shoulder. “I’d leave you much more exhausted than that if you ever tried to pin me down and handcuff me, wench,” he said with a smirk, before moving past her to open the car door.

He loved nothing more than to invade her personal space when the moment suited; a little squeeze of the shoulder here, a little pat of the hand there. When they went down to the car in the morning, he had taken to putting his hand in the small of her back as they walked, as if she needed guiding. For one shining moment she had thought there was some real intent in all this, that he really was trying to win her over and gain her affection, but on reflection, she knew that wasn’t the case. It was more likely that he had finally got an inkling of her attraction to him and was now just using that against her by being increasingly obnoxious and tactile. It was all a game to wind her up, so, as much as possible, she tried to keep him at arm’s length.

This distance manifested itself in the fact she wouldn’t go and immediately find Jaime when she arrived at the station, like she used to do, but would go up to the kitchen and make herself a cup of tea first. One of the things that annoyed her the most about the job was the fact that none of the other officers, except the Chief himself, would ever wash up their own mugs, meaning whenever she went to make tea, her desire for orderliness meant she ended up doing everyone’s washing up for them.

One morning, she was half way through cleaning the Hound’s _Metallica_ mug when she felt a hand on the small of her back. “Morning wench.” Brienne wasn’t used to Jaime being so stealthy, and so, in the process of once again jumping out of her skin, she dropped the mug and it shattered in the sink.

“Crap,” she said, knowing the Hound would be furious with her. She instantly went about picking the fragments up to wrap them in kitchen paper, so no one would get hurt.

“Hey,” said Jaime, reaching across to take her hand. “Stop that. Look, you’ve cut yourself.” Sure enough, there was a red line across her palm.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. I’ve got stuff to do.”

“It _does_ matter,” said Jaime. “Think of yourself for once. I’ll go and get the first aid box.”

He hurriedly left the kitchen in search of it and, in his absence, Brienne continued to pick up the shards and wrap them up. She had hoped to be finished before Jaime got back, so she could avoid him completely, but unfortunately, he returned fairly promptly, first aid kit in hand. He set it up next to the sink, opening it awkwardly with his one hand.

“Let me help you,” he insisted, getting one of the antiseptic wipes out of the box.

“No,” she snapped, taking it off him, “it would take you four days to bandage this up. I can do it myself.”

He looked a little affronted, but then he drew close, “at least let me kiss it better.”

Suddenly, the door of the kitchen swung open and Brienne leapt away from Jaime. It was the Hound and Joff.

“Hey,” the Hound said darkly, looking at the shattered shards on the side, “is that my _Metallica_ mug?”

“Urgh,” said Brienne, as she put a plaster across her cut. “I’m sorry. I’ll get you a new one.”

“You’d better,” said the Hound, feeding Joff a biscuit. “By the way, the Chief wants to speak to us. Something about the patrol rotas.”

“Tell him we’ll be there in a minute,” said Jaime, “I need to talk to Brienne.”

Brienne fixed him with what she hoped was an admonishing look. “No. We’ll go now. You know the Chief doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” Throwing the shards of the _Metallica_ mug into the bin, Brienne followed the Hound and Joff out of the room, with Jaime trotting behind.

“Wench,” he said once he had drawn level with her, “I really would like to talk to you.”

“Not now,” she said, trying to catch up with the Hound.

“When?” he asked.

“Maybe later.”

When Brienne, Jaime, and the Hound were finally lined up in front of the Chief in his office, Tywin surveyed them, folding his arms across his chest. “Margaery is coming back off leave tomorrow, and I wondered if it would settle her back in a little better if she went on patrol with Sergeant Tarth for a few days."

Brienne went to agree, but Jaime cut across her.

“No, Brienne is _my_ partner.”

Tywin fixed him with a look that made Jaime redden. “I feel it would be of help to PC Tyrrell if you would swap, Jaime. She is still in grief, and although Sergeant Clegane is an excellent officer, I’m not sure he’s the most… sensitive.”

The Hound let out a gruff laugh. “It’s no problem with me, as long as Lannister here doesn’t ask me stupid questions all day.”

“And I’m happy to go on patrol with Margaery,” said Brienne, secretly relieved at the excuse of not having to sit with Jaime in the car. “It would be my pleasure.”

Jaime shot her a wounded look, which Brienne tried to ignore.

Tywin’s eyes flitted from Jaime to Brienne and back again. “Good,” he said. “I’m glad that’s sorted. Sergeant Tarth, I’ll put you on the rota with PC Tyrrell for the next week.”

* * *

 

On Brienne’s first day on patrol with Margaery, they found themselves sitting in the car in the High Street, watching for anything interesting that might be happening.

“Has much changed at the station since I’ve been gone?” asked Margaery.

“No,” said Brienne, not wanting to tell her about Jaime’s strange behaviour. “Actually,” she said, suddenly remembering, “I lie.”

“ _Ooooh_ ,” said Margaery, “do you have some gossip?”

“Yes, I do!” beamed Brienne. “Do you remember that Jon had that internet girlfriend – Ygritte – who was from Iceland?”

“Yes, wasn’t she supposed to be Snoop Dogg’s ex or something?”

“Chris Brown’s,” corrected Brienne. “Well, anyway, while you were away, Jon flew out to meet her.”

“Oh my god!” squeaked Margaery, “romance in the office! Who would have thought it?” Brienne tried not to think of Jaime at that. “How did it go?”

Brienne chuckled, “I don’t think it went _entirely_ how Jon planned.”

“Why?”

“Well,” said Brienne, “I don’t think Jon was expecting Ygritte to be a fifty year old bloke called Mance who played for an Elvis tribute band called _The King Beyond the Wall,_ and insisted on calling Jon his little crow.”

Margaery spluttered with laughter. “You can’t be serious!”

“Yes, I am,” chuckled Brienne, “and the weirdest thing of all is they’re trying to make it work.”

At that point, the car radio kicked into life.

“Wench, Margaery,” came Jaime’s voice. Brienne’s heart started beating a little quicker. “We’ve just had a call that there is apparently a baby stuck up a tree at Storm’s End. You guys are closest, so can you go check it out?”

Margaery was about to answer, but Brienne snatched the radio out of her hands. “A baby?” she said, incredulously. “Surely you’ve heard that wrong?”

“No, wench, I heard it all perfectly. Unlike you, I have eyes and ears and pick up on everything that’s going on around me. A baby is stuck up a tree at Storm’s End. Go check it out. Over and out.”

Brienne slammed the radio down, folding her arms in annoyance at his tone. Just because she had said she didn’t have time to talk, it didn’t mean he had to get all arsy at her.

“ _You guys_ ,” chuckled Margaery, as she started the car and began the journey to Storm’s End.

* * *

 

Storm’s End was one of the most impressive houses in Casterly. A grand modernist masterpiece, it was composed of huge glass windows and geometric shapes that made it seem like a giant dolls house. Although it was beautiful and interesting in its own right, Brienne couldn’t help but think it was at odds with the rustic effect of the rest of the village. It was the first house to have been built in Casterly by _Baratheon Properties_ , the company owned by Stannis Baratheon, a noted modernist architect. As it had been the first, it was also the house that he had decided to settle in, along with his new girlfriend and his niece and nephew. Brienne and Margaery had to be buzzed through the gates when they first arrived, and then the butler, Cressen, told them to park up on the east side of the house.

“Ms Asshai is in the orchard,” came the butler’s voice through the tinny announcer, “she’s in quite a state.”

Once Margaery and Brienne had parked the car, they dashed into the orchard, wanting to find Melisandre and the baby. Brienne had only seen Melisandre Asshai from a distance once before, but there was no mistaking her. She was a very beautiful woman – tall and pale and elegant – with fire in her hair. Melisandre was just the sort of woman that Jaime would like, Brienne thought. They found her standing under a tree, looking up into the branches with concern.

“Officers!” Melisandre shouted. “Quick! Over here!”

Brienne and Margaery jogged over as quickly as possible. “Yes, Ms Asshai,” said Brienne, “how can we be of assistance?”

“It’s my baby!” she said. “She’s stuck up there!”

Both Brienne and Margaery followed Melisandre’s gaze and looked into the tree, but neither of them could immediately spot a baby in mortal peril.

“I don’t see anything,” said Margaery. 

"What do you mean?” said Melisandre, agitated, “she’s right _there_!”

After much squinting, Brienne spotted what they were looking for. High up in the tree, stuck between two branches, Brienne could see the tiny arse of a very small black cat.

“Ms Asshai,” said Brienne slowly, “your baby doesn’t happen to be a cat, does it?”

“Yes!” said Melisandre, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Shadow is my little furry baby! Stannis and I adopted her when we became official; she’s so precious to me. Please help her down.”

“Ms Asshai,” said Brienne sternly, “we were under the impression we were here to save a child. Could you not have called someone else to help?”

“No! Shadow needs help now!”

Brienne and Margaery turned to each other, concerned looked on their faces. “Got any ideas?” asked Margaery. In truth, Brienne did have one.

“ _Miaow_ ,” said Brienne quietly, and then again more loudly, cupping her hands around her mouth in order to project the sound up to Shadow in the tree. “ _Miaow_ … _Miaow_ … _Miaow_.”

Margaery looked at Brienne as if she had lost her tiny mind. “What are you doing?”

Brienne blushed. “When I was on another case with Jaime, we had to try and locate a missing swan. Jaime tried channelling his inner swan… so I thought I’d have a go with my inner cat.”

“Your inner cat?” said Margaery incredulously. “Did Jaime’s inner swan help you find what you were looking for?”

Brienne thought back to that ridiculous afternoon where she had chased him all over the nature reserve, watching him honking at random birds. “No,” she giggled. “Not really.”

“I don’t think you are taking this very seriously!” said Melisandre, suddenly stern. “Shadow is stuck, and she can’t get down!”

“Of course we are taking this seriously,” insisted Brienne, regaining her composure. “We are just trying to work out the best course of action.”

After a couple more minutes of observing the situation, Margaery spoke. “Okay,” she said, turning to Brienne. “I think one of us is going to have to go up there. No offence, Brienne, but I think I’m probably better suited to this task.” Brienne couldn’t help but agree. During police training, she had always struggled with climbing the rope, whereas Margaery was lightweight and petite, and would have little problem shimmying up the tree trunk.

“I agree,” said Brienne. “Shall I go and get the ropes from the car?”

“Nah, I’ll be alright. It’s not too high up,” replied Margaery, putting her foot on a low branch. “Just catch me if I fall.”

Brienne and Melisandre then watched in silence as Margaery slowly made her way up the tree, placing her feet very precisely as she went. Luckily, there were lots of thick branches that helped her get her footing and soon she was up at Shadow’s level, her legs wrapped around a branch. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty,” said Margaery coaxingly, stretching her hands out towards the little cat. At the sound, Shadow began to shuffle round to face her, her huge eyes luminescent. “Come here kitty!” At the sound of Margaery’s voice, Shadow began to walk very delicately along the branch, her tail curling as she went. “Good girl!” purred Margaery as the cat came closer and closer.

“Aww… she’s such a sweetheart,” said Margaery, looking down at Brienne and Melisandre on the ground. “She’s so cute.”

Unfortunately, Shadow chose that moment to demonstrate she was anything other than sweet and cute. Crouching down, she suddenly launched herself at Margaery’s face, scratching at her as if she were her love rival for an overweight hillbilly on an episode of _Jerry Springer_.

“Owwww!” shouted Margaery, pulling the cat off her and throwing her out of the tree.

Everything suddenly seemed to be going in slow motion. Shadow fell, legs splayed, a confused look on her face. Melisandre screamed, clutching her cheeks _Home Alone_ style. Margaery shouted “shit!”, realising what she had done. In contrast, Brienne leapt herself into action. Launching herself towards the tree, arms extended, she belly-flopped to the ground just in time to catch Shadow in her arms as the cat landed.

“My baby!” cried Melisandre, pulling the cat from Brienne’s arms and nuzzling her. Shadow chose that precise moment to go back to being sweetness and light once more, purring affectionately. Brienne had to admit; the little shit had style.

Brienne stayed on the ground for a moment longer, thoroughly winded. “Glad to be of service, Ms Asshai,” she groaned.

A moment later, Margaery had managed to shimmy back down the tree, her cheeks marked by little cuts. Extending her hand to Brienne, she helped her to her feet. “Why is it every time I go somewhere with you, I get attacked by a random animal?” she grumbled.

“At least it wasn’t a lion this time,” smiled Brienne.

* * *

 

Due to their accidental rescue of Shadow the cat, Melisandre insisted on bring Brienne and Margaery back into the house for a drink. Despite their protestations, Melisandre would have none of it, and they soon found themselves in the kitchen. The inside of Storm’s End was one of the most elegant pieces of interior design Brienne had ever seen. The whole place was open plan, which made it light and airy, and it was equipped with all the mod-cons. The way it was laid out also meant that Brienne could see through into the other rooms downstairs; the lounge, the office, the study, the library, and the games room. From the kitchen, it was possible to see Myrcella and Tommen in the living area playing _Fortnite_ on the massive TV, wrestling over the PS4 controls. His green eyes alight with an impish glee, Tommen reminded Brienne of Jaime; in fact, the resemblance was so good that Brienne felt she was looking at Jaime as a child. The sequential thoughts of Storm’s End and Jaime eventually made Brienne’s mind turn to Casterly Rock, which was beautiful in a different way – all mahogany wood and dark carpets – and picturing it, she realised how incongruous Storm’s End seemed with the rest of the village.

“Can I get you a drink?” asked Melisandre, putting Shadow back in her bed. “Tea? Coffee?”

Both Brienne and Margaery asked for a tea, and Melisandre selected the most exotic sounding teas she had in her cupboard for them – Brienne had a Darjeeling, and Margaery a weird looking liquorice tea.

“Thank you for saving Shadow,” said Melisandre, “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come.”

“Yes, well, next time maybe phone the RSPCA?” suggested Brienne, sipping her tea.

“Of course, Sergeant Tarth,” smiled Melisandre, “it’s just I thought the police had forgotten about us over in our little corner of Casterly.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Well,” said Melisandre carefully, “next weekend Stannis and _Baratheon Properties_ are having a big drinks reception for the unveiling of the plans of the new housing estate the company is building in Casterly. We sent an invite to all the important people in the village, including the entirety of the Casterly Constabulary, but we have not heard back from Tywin yet.”

Margaery furrowed her brow. “That’s strange. When we get back to the station, we’ll remind him.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Melisandre said, sipping her tea. At that moment, there was a shout from upstairs.

“Mel, babe, have you seen my fiery heart boxers?”

Margaery sniggered into her tea.

“Yes Stan,” shouted Melisandre, “they’re in the wash. You’ll have to wear your stag ones, I just ironed them!”

Margaery began to laugh harder, so Brienne knew it was best that they get going. “Thanks so much for your generosity, Ms Asshai,” said Brienne, confiscating Margaery’s tea off her and putting it on the side. “PC Tyrell and I will have to be off now, we’ve got lots of duties to attend to. Thank you for the tea, and we’ll be sure to remind the Chief about the invite to your drinks reception.”

“Of course,” smiled Melisandre, “thanks for your help, once again. I’ll call Cressen to show you out.” Melisandre buzzed through to Cressen, who slowly escorted them back to their car. In truth, Brienne and Margaery could have got there a lot quicker if he hadn’t come with them. It was only once they had driven half way up the drive that Brienne turned to Margaery, speaking to her with a slightly admonishing tone.

“Why were you laughing in there? We’d just won her round after we’d nearly killed her cat!”

“That demon isn’t a cat!” insisted Margaery, “and anyway, I was laughing because Stannis and Melisandre are the talk of the entire village.”

Brienne looked at her a little confusedly. “Why?”

Margaery’s eyes took on something of a knowledge of conspiracy. “Stannis left his wife, Selyse, for Melisandre. They’d been married since their early twenties, and although they’d never had kids, we all thought they were happy together. That’s why everyone nearly died of shock when we found out he’d been carrying on with his secretary and wanted to move her in. He’d never seemed the type.”

“All men are the type,” said Brienne darkly. “They all want someone younger and more beautiful.”

Margaery shrugged. “I don’t know, I think Stannis had other reasons. Without any kids of his own, Myrcella and Tommen are the heirs to _Baratheon Properties_ , which is a bit awkward given his beef with Cersei. For Stannis, I think Melisandre represents an alternative line of succession, as well as a sweet piece of ass.”

* * *

 

Once they were back at the station, Brienne directed Margaery to the little first aid room to the side of the staff room, so she could clean up the injuries she had received from Shadow.

“I think it’s kept in the bottom drawer,” said Brienne, hoping Jaime had put it back where he had found it that morning. As instructed, Margaery crossed the room to crouch down behind the desk and began looking for what she wanted.

Before Brienne had time to go anywhere, the door opened.

“Hey, wench,” said Jaime, slinking into the room before shutting the door behind him. “I was hoping to catch you before the end of the day.”

He was wearing one of his devastating smiles, so Brienne couldn’t quite bring herself to look at him. Instead, she turned her back to him and started to fiddle with some paperwork on the desk. “What do you want?”

“Well,” he said slowly, walking up behind her. “I was wondering whether you were free Saturday night?” She suddenly felt his hand on the edge of the desk, just inches from her left hip.

She bit her lip. “Saturday… err… I’m not sure. I think I’m going out with Margaery, actually.”

Margaery popped her head above the desk. “Brienne is not going out with Margaery, _actually_ ,” she said. “Margaery is very busy, which will leave Brienne very _un-busy_.”

“Thanks Margaery,” said Jaime, shooting her a smile over Brienne’s shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” she said, giving him a little wink, before disappearing behind the desk once more.

Brienne wanted nothing more than to glare at Margaery, because she was annoyed at her for breaking one of the fundamental rules of girl code. However, at that moment, Brienne decided her bigger priority was to head Jaime off; she didn’t like his tone and she was sure he was making fun of her. Turning around to face him, she was surprised to find his expression had somewhat softened since he had first entered the room, and he was smiling at her gently. Feeling trapped under his gaze, she tried to look anywhere other than at him, in attempt not to wilt. Clearing her throat, Brienne said, “I suppose I can make it then. What were you thinking?”

Jaime cocked his head slightly, before moving a fraction of a step closer to her, placing his other arm on the desk beside her other hip, trapping her. In response, Brienne backed up, so she was almost sitting on the desk. That seemed to make Jaime smile even more. “I was thinking you could come round to mine and I’ll attempt to make you something nice for dinner. Maybe we can watch a film, or just Netflix and chill… whatever you prefer.”

Brienne perked up a little at the mention of Netflix. “There’s a really good German time travel show I love that I think you would enjoy. Maybe we could try the first episode of that?”

Jaime smiled, a laugh on his lips. “German time travel show sounds great.” Dropping his voice, he bent his mouth to her ear and murmured, “it will get me _right in the mood_.”

The feel of him so close to her made Brienne blush furiously, which just annoyed her considering this was just yet another one of his attempts to rile her. Wanting to get away from him as quickly as possible, she said, “Ok, what time?”

“Shall we say around seven thirty? Dinner for eight?”

“Sounds good,” said Brienne, biting her lip.

“Great,” beamed Jaime, finally withdrawing. “It’s a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh I'm sorry this was a bit late. I was out socialising all weekend, and then I had to binge watch some episodes of a certain German time travel show. I should be back on schedule now!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the adventures of Brienne, Margaery, and Shadow the Cat. I know there wasn't a whole lot of Jaime this time, but next time... there definitely will be. 
> 
> Thanks once again, and please leave comments and kudos!
> 
> Next chapter... Brienne goes round to Jaime's for dinner to watch an episode of her favourite German time travel show...


	13. Dinner for Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne have dinner together, and it turns into a surprising heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still overwhelmed and awe inspired by all your lovely comments and kudos. As usual, please keep them coming! They inspire me to write!

An hour and a half before Brienne was meant to be at Jaime’s on Saturday evening, she was standing in her underwear in her bedroom looking into her mirror, crying her eyes out.

Even though it wasn’t a date – yes, Jaime had used the word, but she was sure he meant it in the context of picking a time and place on a calendar – she wanted to look nice for him, and everything she owned only succeeded in making her look too tall, ugly, and masculine.

She only got more and more down with every message from Margaery.

 _Margaery:_            I expect you to tell me _everything_ once this is all over. I will have a go at him on Monday if you tell me he wasn’t a gentleman and didn’t make you cum first.

 _Brienne_ :              What you think is going on is really not going on.

 _Margaery:_            It so is! Make sure you have shaved your legs – I know what you are like!

 _Margaery:_            And make sure you are wearing sexy undies. He’ll want to rip them off.

Brienne put Margaery on mute, because she didn’t want to hear any more about how Jaime had invited her over to his flat for sex. He hadn’t. At most, he’d probably give her a bowl of half eaten oven chips, they’d watch some crappy action movie that he liked, and then he’d kick her out because he was tired. Come to think of it, she didn’t know why she’d agreed to this stupid plan in the first place. Picking up her phone, she went to message Jaime with an excuse of why she couldn’t come – she had bubonic plague, a meteorite had hit her house, the zombie apocalypse had begun – when she got a message from him.

 _Jaime:_                Looking forward to seeing you later! I’ve stocked up on cranberry juice just for you xxx

She put down her phone, remembering what had happened after Margaery’s party. Brienne didn’t want to lose him as a friend and turning him down this late in the day would undoubtedly insult him. So, she got back up and went over to her wardrobe and began to look for something to wear. Every single option was a disastrous mess, but she eventually settled on the blue maxi dress she had worn to Margaery’s party. Although it had been a joke, Brienne remembered that Jaime had told her the dress suited her. If she turned up in the dress tonight, maybe he’d make the same jibe again, and Brienne could pretend for a moment he actually meant it.

* * *

 

Standing outside Jaime’s flat, Brienne felt very, _very_ faint. She lifted her had to knock on the door several times, stalling each time.

 _What are you scared of?_ Brienne asked herself. _This will be exactly the same as being on patrol with him, except this time, you’ll be in his flat._

Her little pep talk eventually gave her the courage to knock quietly on the door, and she didn’t have to wait a moment for him to answer. Brienne had expected to find him slouching around in a tracksuit, but instead he was wearing smart shoes, dark jeans, and a blue shirt. A waft of cologne hit her as the door opened, and his hair was styled differently from the carefree tousle he usually sported.

“Brienne,” he murmured, his eyes wide on seeing her. “You should have warned me you were planning on wearing that dress again. You’ll give a man a heart attack.”

She frowned. The dress had been a horrible mistake.

He obviously spotted her reaction as he said, “hey,” a cautious smile on his lips. “It was a compliment. You look beautiful, truly.”

“Thanks,” said Brienne uneasily. “You look very nice too.”

They stood there awkwardly smiling at each other for a moment, before Jaime seemed to remember where they were. “Come in, I’m just getting everything ready.”

Brienne couldn’t really get a good look at the flat because Jaime’s lounge was dark, apart from a number of candles of different sizes and shapes that had been scattered around, which were the only sources of illumination in the room.

“Are you having a problem with the electrics?” Brienne asked.

“Yes,” said Jaime, slowly. “There’s something wrong with the wiring in here. It’s fine everywhere else.”

Her heart hammered against her ribcage. “If it’s a problem, I can come back another time, if you want?”

“No!” he said, smiling. “Tonight’s perfect. I’ve got everything planned out.”

“You have?”

“Yes,” he beamed. “Do you want to know what we are eating?”

He looked so excited that she said, “okay.”

“I’ve prepared three courses,” he said, “for starters we have prawn cocktail in some stupid fancy martini glasses the internet told me looked nice. Then we have Shae’s Moroccan tagine recipe. It’s absolutely delicious and she let me borrow her slow cooker to make it. And then for dessert I’ve made some strawberries coated in dark chocolate. They’re in the fridge and still need a bit of time to chill.” He paused, looking a bit nervous. “Does that sound okay to you?”

She blinked. _Where were the oven chips?_ “Yes…” she stammered. “It sounds lovely.”

“Great,” he smiled, the colour coming back to his cheeks. “I just need to go and prepare some final things in the kitchen. Do you want to come with me?”

“Sure,” she said, trying to suppress the hope that was gaining buoyancy in her belly.

The kitchen was alive with the aromas of Moroccan tagine, which Brienne could see was stewing away in the slow cooker. Jaime went over to the fridge, before turning back to face her. “What do you fancy to drink? A beer? Champagne? A cranberry juice?”

She felt a little flustered. “What are you going to have?”

“I was thinking of cracking open the champagne. I feel the need to celebrate.”

Brienne smiled, “I’ll have the same then.”

Jaime rooted around inside the fridge and eventually bought out a large bottle of champagne. Sticking one knee in the air, he tried to balance the bottle on it while taking the cork out with his good hand. Brienne chuckled, confiscating the bottle off him. “It’s probably better I do that.”

He smiled, “probably.”

In a moment, she had popped the cork, and Jaime had brought out two glasses which they were quickly filling up.

“Cheers, wench,” he said, before taking a swig.

“Cheers,” she replied, sipping her drink, unable to look at him.

After the toast, Jaime put his glass of champagne to one side for a moment. “I’ve just got to do the last bit of cooking, if that’s okay?” he said, checking she was alright for the half hundredth time.

“Yes, that’s fine,” said Brienne. “Do you need any help?”

His fingers danced across her cheek. “No, don’t worry. You just stand there, drink your champagne, and look beautiful.”

Wearing a luminescent grin on his face, he went over to the side and pulled out a chopping board and a knife. Cutting three peppers out of a packet, he began hacking at the red one with his shaky left hand. Catching sight of the way he was massacring the pepper, Brienne dashed over to him.

“Stop Jaime, stop!” she chortled, “you’ll cut your other hand off if you carry on like that.”

He looked over his shoulder, “I didn’t know you cared so much.”

“Of course, I do,” she said gently, “you’re my partner.” She walked forward, taking both the knife and the peppers off him, shunting him to the side with a playful whack of her hips against his. He only smiled at her. She began chopping the peppers; cutting them in half, before rooting out the seeds and slicing them into quarters. Just as she began on the yellow pepper, she felt Jaime’s arm slink round her waist. She froze, not sure what to do.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, giving her a little squeeze, just as he began to draw small shapes on her hip with his fingers.

“Yes, everything is fine,” she said, biting down on her lip. As she continued with the peppers, he kept his arm looped around her, but asked her questions about her day and the weather and what she was doing next week. Brienne barely heard what he was saying; she was too conscious of how close he was.

When she had finished chopping the peppers, Jaime poured them in the slow cooker. “They have to cook for five minutes and then we can leave it to simmer until we are ready to eat. Shall we go and have our starter?”

Brienne nodded. “Yes please.”

Jaime got the prawn cocktails out of the fridge and took them to the makeshift table in the lounge. Brienne was astounded to see that he had set it up with a little pink table cloth, with a vase with a single red rose in the centre. He had already laid out the plates and two sets of cutlery. “Start from the outside and work your way in. The larger set are for the main course.”

Brienne nodded, sitting down at one the places. Jaime didn’t instantly join her, but crossed the room to where his iPhone was connected to some speakers. Fiddling with it briefly, a moment later, Elton John’s _Your Song_ began warbling across the room.

This was already turning out to be a very different night from the one she expected.

* * *

 

As they ate, they discussed life, the universe, and everything. The conversation stretched from the likelihood of ancient aliens building the pyramids, to Jaime’s opinion that chihuahuas were not really dogs but instead mutant gerbils. Jaime told her how he had once got his tongue frozen to a children’s swing when he was five, because Cersei had dared him to, and Brienne told him about Margaery’s near death experience at the hands of a deranged cat. It felt so good to just laugh with him, without the pressure of work, and with the comfort of a great dinner in her stomach.

Brienne was very impressed with the food. When she was half way through the Moroccan tagine, she said, “I didn’t realise you were such an amazing cook.”

He smiled, “I’m a man of many talents.” When she raised her eyebrows at him, he said, “well, at least, I can follow a recipe.”

The biggest surprise was the chocolate covered strawberries. Jaime had even found some chocolate glitter which gave them a golden sheen when held correctly.

“Look,” he said, holding one up in the light before her. “Try it.”

Brienne leant up towards Jaime’s hand, sticking out her tongue to catch it. He gave a little intake of breath at that, so Brienne continued, taking the strawberry between her teeth. Without the use of her hands, it meant the juice ran down her chin when she bit into it. She tried to clean it away, but Jaime was there first. He swiped his thumb across her chin, wiping off the sticky strawberry juice, before pulling away and sucking it off his own thumb in turn. All the while, he never took his eyes off her, and Brienne couldn’t help but blush.

“You have an amazing blush, wench,” he whispered. “And you do it so easily. There’s no greater pleasure in my life that watching you go that lovely pink colour you do.”

Brienne suddenly felt very hot. Not only was Jaime’s gaze heavy upon her, but Adele was just concluding _Make You Feel My Love_ from Jaime’s speakers. Wanting to avoid the encroaching embarrassment, she piled up a few more chocolate strawberries onto her plate and picked up her glass of champagne, getting to her feet.

“I thought you said we were going to Netflix and chill,” said Brienne.

At that, Jaime choked on a strawberry, and had to whack his chest a few times to dislodge it.

“Are you okay?” asked Brienne.

“Fine, wench,” he said, once he had composed himself. “Do you actually know what Netflix and chill means?”

“Yes,” said Brienne, confused, “it means we watch something on Netflix and then relax. What do you think it means?”

Jaime coughed, suppressing a smile. “I think it means _exactly_ what you think it means. Do you want to watch something now?”

Brienne nodded and crossed the room to turn off the speakers, which were half way through a rendition of Whitney’s A _nd I Will Always Love You_ , before going to the sofa. She took the seat on the far left of the couch, wanting easy access to her champagne and the strawberries which she had placed on the little table next to her. She had expected Jaime to sit at the other end of the three-seater sofa, but instead, he came and sat right next to her, putting his arm round her shoulder as he went.

“So, what do you fancy watching?” he asked.

“Maybe that German TV show I told you about? It’s really dark and crazy, but the story builds up…”

Jaime cut her off. “I was thinking we should watch a film, just in case we want to do other stuff later. I don’t think we want to get too invested.”

Brienne nodded, just happy that he was sitting here with her, his arm around her shoulders. “What were you thinking?”

“Let’s have a flick through Netflix.”

Jaime booted up the TV, and soon they were scrolling through the millions of options the service had to offer. After many silly suggestions from Jaime, Brienne started to get somewhat annoyed.

“No, Jaime,” said Brienne, “I am not watching _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_.”

“Why not?” he smirked, “I’ll let you bury your face in my big strong chest when you get scared.”

Brienne scoffed. “Who are we kidding? You’ll be screaming like a little girl within two minutes.”

Jaime laughed. “What about Mission Impossible then?”

“No. I can’t stand the theme music.”

Brienne thought she didn’t really mind what they watched, as long as they watched it together, until she let out an unintentional squeak when they scrolled past her favourite film of all time.

Jaime rolled his eyes. “ _The Notebook_. Really?”

She turned to look at him, her blue eyes wide. Jaime let out a small groan. “Don’t look at me like that, wench. You’ll have me doing anything you ask of me; I’ll blow up a man’s house, or rob a bank, or take off all my clothes and give you a striptease.”

Brienne ignored that last comment and gave him a little pout. “I just want you to watch _The Notebook_ with me… Please.”

He agreed, with a smile that she took for a surrender.

They watched the film mostly in silence, but to Brienne it was one of the nicest times she had ever spent with Jaime, as she had never felt closer to him. Even though it was somewhat warm with their bodies pressed beside one another, Jaime kept his arm round her at all times, and after a few minutes began to rub the exposed skin of her neckline with his fingers. When, eventually, she gave into the inviting expanse of his shoulder and rested her head there, he laid his own head on top of hers and began to play with her hair. Jaime spoke for the first time when they got to the scene of Ryan Gosling rowing Rachel McAdams across a lake full of swans.

“We should do that sometime,” suggested Jaime, his voice gentle.

“What?”

“Go rowing. One weekend. Just you and me. We could take a picnic and go somewhere beautiful.”

Brienne laughed, “knowing our luck, there would be a hole in the boat and we’d both drown.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” said Jaime sweetly, “I’ll be the only one drowning. You could have the door to lie on until the lifeboat comes.”

Brienne sat up, looking at him confusedly. “You realise you are mixing up your films there. This is _The Notebook_. Rose hogs the door and lets Jack freeze to death in _Titanic_.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Jaime, “but even so, you can still have the door.”

With that, he cupped her head with his hand and lowered her back onto his shoulder, before he resumed his former position.

They carried on watching the film in silence for a few moments more until Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams both got very heavily rained on and started declaring “IT STILL ISN’T OVER” in very passionate tones.

“Do you think love like that actually exists?” said Brienne, the question out of her mouth before she had time to think.

He turned to face her, his green eyes settling on her features. “Yes. Don’t you?”

She looked at him sceptically. “No. Of course I don’t. It’s all just a nice story used to fool silly girls like me that happy endings exist.”

“Well, that’s a cheery outlook on life,” said Jaime sarcastically. “Isn’t it better to believe that love and happy endings are out there for us all?”

“No,” said Brienne, “not when four percent of all US adults die virgins.”

Jaime spluttered with laughter. “Is that true? Or did you just pull that fact out of your arse, Ms Statistics?”

“It’s a fact,” she smiled. “I won’t let you dispute it.”

“Ok, I won’t dispute it, but the alleged fact that four percent of all US adults die virgins does not prove that crazy, erotic, passionate love doesn’t exist.” He shook his head, before saying teasingly, “who hurt you to make you say something so bitter?”

Her face fell almost instantly, and she tried to pull away from him, withdrawing back into the sofa. Jaime spotted her change of mood almost instantly. Softening his expression, he took her hand in his and said, “tell me, Brienne. Who hurt you?”

Brienne sighed, looking down at her hands. Before she knew what was happening, she was telling Jaime everything.

“When I was sixteen, there was this guy in my year at school called Ron Connington, but everyone called him ‘Red’ because of his red hair. We shared a chemistry class together, and we were paired up a couple of times. He wasn’t the most handsome guy in the world, but I thought he was cute in his own way.” She paused, thinking of how innocent she was then. “He used to bring me a pack of jelly tots to class every day, which, I found really strange because I didn’t really have many friends at school. I eventually ended up developing this huge crush on him because he was the only guy who was nice to me.”

“That’s rather a low bar for developing a crush on someone,” said Jaime.

“Oh, believe me,” said Brienne. “I’m a lover of a good low bar crush.” She took a breath before continuing. “I became really convinced that Red and I were meant to be together, especially after he asked me to Prom. He got me this little plastic ring with a fake diamond in it and promised me he’d get me a real one once he had the money. I was such an idiot.”

She began to pick at her nails. “Things were fine until a few days later, when Red told me that couples who went together to Prom always slept together the night before. I was nervous, but I thought he loved me, so I agreed. I lost my virginity on his crappy little single bed with the West Ham covers in his Mum’s house, and I thought it was the best thing that had ever happened to me.”

“Was it?” asked Jaime.

“Of course not,” said Brienne, letting out a derisive snort. “When we turned up at Prom, he waited until we were in the centre of the dancefloor in front of the whole year, and then he pulled out a rose. I was so excited, because I’d never been given flowers before. I shouldn’t have been so stupid, as a second later he threw it at my feet and told me that was the last thing I would ever get from him, as he couldn’t have the ugliest girl in the year as his girlfriend. He stormed off, and everyone around me was pointing and laughing. Then, to top it all off, a few days later I discovered that the reason he had slept with me because all the boys in my year had a bet on to see which one could take _Big Ugly Brienne’s_ virginity. Red had claimed his prize by taking a photo of me naked in his bed while I was asleep and shared it around the whole school.”

A silence broke across their conversation, heavy and obtrusive and full of revelation. Jaime had a pained look in his eyes, and he put two fingers on her chin in order to turn her face towards him. His solemn expression told Brienne that he was going to say something very moving.

“What a bellend.”

“Sorry?” said Brienne.

“You heard,” Jaime said. “What a _bellend_. A _wanker_. A _tosser_. I hope you did a _Carrie_ on him.”

Brienne crossed her arms, “I hope you are not suggesting that you think I should have murdered Connington?”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” he said. “Sometimes a bit of vigilantism is the only way to get shit done.”

He laid back on the sofa, his hands behind his head, “if you want, I’ll kill him for you.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” she said, laughing.

“Why not? I’m a police officer, I could work out how to get away with it.”

Brienne shook her head. “Well, for one thing, I still have him on Facebook, and he is now so pumped up on roids that he could flatten you in a second.”

Jaime’s face grew dark and deadly serious, “I’d let him punch me within an inch of my life if it made you feel better.”

She was suddenly overcome by the same sadness that had lingered in her since the day Connington had thrown a rose at her feet. “Letting you punch him, or him punch you, would not make me feel better. The damage has already been done.”

Jaime squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to let it.”

Brienne gave him a haunted look. “Really? Do you think it’s that easy to forget? I’ve still got that bloody ring he gave me?”

Jaime looked at her in confusion. “Why?”

“It’s a reminder,” said Brienne firmly, “that pretty words and grand gestures mean nothing in the long run. Connington hurt me so badly… I swore to myself it would never happen again.”

“And he’ll continue to hurt you as long as you keep that ring,” said Jaime, tightening his grip on her fingers. “Throw it away. It’s nothing but a bad memory, and it’s not worth wasting your time on when you could be making good memories instead.”

Brienne shook her head. “But the bad memories are just as much a part of you as the good. Would I be the same person without Connington? Would you be the same person if you hadn’t lost your hand?” The cloud that came across Jaime’s features told her it was a dangerous topic of conversation, but she continued. “Well, would you?”

“My hand…” said Jaime, removing his arm from around her shoulders, “is a different topic entirely.”

Brienne felt Jaime pulling away from her, so she caught his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. She was surprised to see a look of baffled wonderment in his eyes as his green met her blue.

“All this time we’ve known each other, you’ve never told me how you lost your hand.”

He shook his head. "It's a sad story."

Brienne ran her thumb across his cheek. "Please."

Jaime sighed, retreating into his own memories, ready to share something long hidden. “One of the long running cases we worked while I was in Manchester was that of Aerys Targaryen, a gangland boss. He was involved in all sorts of criminal activities; drug smuggling, people trafficking, prostitution. I was tasked with finding some way of bringing him down.”

Brienne held her breath. She knew of the Targaryens. Back in London, Brienne had received plaudits for rounding up the last traces of Aerys’ activities in the capital. His daughter, Daenerys, had been involved in the smuggling of illegal shipments of a type of amphetamine known as _dragonfire_ on the street. Brienne had been successfully involved in Daenerys’ arrest, but she knew much work had also been done in other cities around the UK to bring the criminal enterprise down.

“What did you do?”

“I decided to infiltrate his network and I managed to make contact with his wife, Rhaella, by pretending to be a janitor in the apartment block she shared with Aerys.”

Jaime moved ever so slightly, so Brienne took her hands from his cheeks and wrapped them around his shoulders, cradling him as he had done her as they watched the film.

“Rhaella was a timid woman; timid and frightened, and scared of her husband. After a time, I managed to convince her to trust me, and we built up a rapport. In exchange for being her friend, she would tell me all about her husband’s activities, and I would assiduously report it back to the police.”

Jaime sighed, as if this were a great weight on him. “Eventually, Aerys cottoned on to the fact that someone was spilling his secrets, and it was decided that Rhaella would be put into witness protection and given a new identity. That would have been fine, if it wasn’t for the fact that Aerys became mighty suspicious of the janitor who had been working in the apartment block, who disappeared along with Rhaella.”

He paused, which caused Brienne to push him. “What happened next?”

“He found me," said Jaime. "He kept me locked up in some garage in the middle of nowhere where he would have his men beat me, trying to get me to tell them the whereabouts of his wife. It went on for days, but I wouldn’t tell them anything. Rhaella deserved a chance of being happy somewhere else, and I wasn’t going to be the one who prevented it.”

Jaime took a deep breath as Brienne gave a comforting squeeze of the shoulders. “They then did this,” he said, lifting his right hand.

“Oh Jaime, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I might have been able to cope with the loss of my hand, if it wasn’t for what happened next. The lawyers cooked up some deal with Aerys which meant he got a plea deal in exchange for dobbing in some other big gangland criminals. He basically walked away scot free. And then two months later they found Rhaella’s body floating in the Bridgewater Canal.”

Brienne could only stare at Jaime, horrified by this turn of events.

“I didn’t cope very well at all," continued Jaime. "I began drinking heavily and eventually I got kicked off the Service in Manchester and was forced to come back here to work under my father. I stayed miserable and depressed for many years.”

“What changed?” asked Brienne, gently. “ _Has_ it changed?”

Jaime’s green eyes seemed to contain the world. “Of course everything changed, because you are now here with me.”

Brienne blushed, “me?”

“Yes,” Jaime said passionately, “you. You taught me what it was like to love my job again, to want to do the best for my community, to want to be a great police officer. I would still be that angry drunk driving into war memorials if you hadn’t arrived and shoved me in the slammer. I just want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for that.”

Brienne suddenly felt an overwhelming burst of love and pride for this ridiculous man, who had cooked her Moroccan tagine, and watched _The Notebook_ for her, and lost his hand for a woman who he hardly knew.

“Jaime,” she said, turning around to face him head on.

“Yes, Brienne,” he replied, mirroring her.

“Will you show me where your hand used to be?”

Jaime’s green eyes were full of vulnerability and tenderness, but even so, he nodded in agreement. Rolling up the right sleeve of his shirt, he revealed the full length of his arm crowned with the prosthetic. Brienne tentatively reached out to him, using the tips of her fingers to pull the prosthetic away, placing it beside her on the sofa once it was gone.

“You don’t have to look,” Jaime said, his voice a little sad. “I know it’s ugly.”

The thought of the words _Jaime_ and _ugly_ in the same sentence seemed ludicrous to Brienne, so she reached out and touched him. She began by running her fingers along the blue vein that led from his scarred wrist up to the soft skin on the underside of his elbow, before tracing the same path she had already taken once again. His stump looked a little red, so she asked, “is the prosthetic sore for you?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “a little,” his face reddening.

She looked at him, her eyes shining with sincerity. “You never have to wear this with me again if it makes you feel uncomfortable. I don’t want the need to keep up appearances to ever cause you pain.”

He gave her a little smile, “I wouldn’t wear it at all if it weren’t for other people. I know it freaks them out. I know it makes them think less of me.”

“How can it make them think less of you?” said Brienne incredulously. “To me, it is just a symbol of how brave you are, how kind, how good, how willing to give up important things for other people. If you told everyone else what you just told me, they would feel the same way too.”

Taken away by the moment, she did the one thing that she thought might make him feel better. Lifting his arm to her lips, she kissed the stump, before drawing it to her chest. Jaime’s eyes lit up in wonderment. “It’s part of you, Jaime. How could it possibly be ugly?”

At that, she felt Jaime’s hand on her thigh, his fingers gentle over her dress. Instinctively, she parted her legs slightly. He seemed to sense that, as his grip grew tighter before he started to move up her leg, ever so slowly, his thumb skirting the inside of her thigh. Almost imperceptibly, they were moving closer together, until suddenly, their foreheads were touching. The unexpected intimacy was too much for Brienne and she closed her eyes, feeling his hot breath on her lips.

“Brienne, I... I…”

 _Kiss me, Jaime,_ she thought hopefully. _Don’t make me fall first, I’m scared you won’t catch me._

“Why the fuck is my lavender scented bath candle in here? And who turned out all the lights?”

Brienne leapt away from Jaime when the lights in the lounge suddenly came on, revealing Cersei in her full horror. She was standing by the front door, a key in her hand. Her beautiful face contorted into a smirk when she saw the scene in front of her; Brienne, red faced, her hands clasped over her mouth, and Jaime still sat on the sofa staring up at her, his breathing heavy.

Cersei sauntered into the lounge, dropping her keys on the small dining table, beside the dirty plates and the flowers. She looked from Brienne to Jaime and back again, before letting out a little laugh.

“Oh,” said Cersei, surveying the scene. “Am I interrupting something?”

Jaime slowly got to his feet and Brienne could almost not bear to look at him, yet out of the corner of her eye she could see he had gone bright red.

Not looking at her, he turned around to face his twin. “Yes, actually, you are. Would you mind coming back later? I need to speak to Brienne.”

“ _Really Jaime?_ ” she said, “you are going to ignore your own twin sister in favour of letting that huge freak think she has a chance? I have real problems. Stannis has…”

“Cersei,” Jaime said, his tone warning, “right now, I don’t care what Stannis has done. Can you come back later please?”

Cersei took a couple of steps across the room, before throwing herself down on the sofa. “Mmm, no. I don’t think I will. I like it here.”

Stretching herself out, she came into contact with Jaime’s prosthetic hand. “Urgh! Oh! What’s that?” Suddenly recognising it, she looked back up at Jaime. “Could you put your hand back on? Your stump creeps me out.“

Brienne turned to Jaime, watching as his face fell and how he obediently rolled down his sleeve, picking up the prosthetic from the sofa as he went. She had never seen something so heart breaking in all her life.

 _I’m going to murder that bitch,_ thought Brienne.

“How dare you speak to him like that,” whispered Brienne, her voice growing stronger with every word, “how _fucking dare you?_  Do you even know what he’s been through? Do you even care? Why do you think you have the right to speak to him like that?”

Cersei laughed smugly, “I’ve been bossing him around since we were in the womb. I’ll talk to him however I like.”

That response made Brienne see red, and in a moment, she lunged at her, determined to knock out every single one of Cersei’s perfect white teeth. Cersei reacted quickly, getting to her feet and almost hissing as she drew up her hands, her sharp nails like claws. Contact between the two women was only prevented when Jaime charged in between them, pushing them away from each other.

“Stop it!” he shouted, “both of you!” Brienne tried to reach over Jaime’s shoulder to get at Cersei’s stupid blonde head, but then Jaime turned to her, his eyes commanding. “Stop it… please… for me.”

Brienne’s aggression suddenly dissipated entirely, to be replaced by an incredible sense of guilt that she had ruined what had been one of the most wonderful evenings of her life.

“Oh god, Jaime,” laughed Cersei. “Look at that expression: wounded puppy all over. Is that what you like, brother? Some moon-eyed cow not fit to lick your boots drooling all over you?”

“Cersei, that’s enough.”

Cersei let out a laugh that was cold and chilling. “Jaime, It’s never enough.”

Brienne stepped back, wanting to cry, her beautiful evening with Jaime in fragments around their feet. In the harsh electric light, Brienne could see the lovely blond beauty that Jaime and Cersei shared, that she would forever be separated from. Only in the dark, only when they were alone could she have ever been convinced of the thought that she was worthy of him.

Jaime obviously came to the conclusion that Cersei would not go of her own accord, so he turned to Brienne. “I’m sorry, but it might be best if you go now.”

Brienne could barely look at him. Only moments ago she had been so happy, inches from his kiss, and now they had both been reminded how ugly and unworthy she was. And the worst thing of all was, in her heart of hearts, Brienne knew that Cersei was right.

“Goodnight, Brienne,” Jaime said. “I’ll see you at work.”

His face seemed weighed down by sadness, and it was amazing and tragic to think that, for a transient moment, she had been close to having his lips on hers.

“Goodnight, Jaime,” she echoed, crossing to the front door to leave.

Taking a last look at Jaime over her shoulder, she hoped to see him smiling at her, but only discovered him shooting daggers at Cersei.

Only when she was outside Jaime’s flat did she have a moment to think, and once there, Cersei’s words rang round her head. It was ridiculous to think she had a chance in hell with Jaime. Where he was kind, funny, handsome, unconventional, and interesting, Brienne was boring, ugly, conservative, and dull. Yet she couldn’t put her feelings aside. They were just _there_ now, as much a part of her as her height or her eye colour or her birthday. Closing her eyes, she could hear Jaime and Cersei still shouting at each other behind the door. Their voices were somewhat muffled, but Brienne hoped that Jaime was giving as good as he got.

Yet the depth of her feeling was so real, that she came to a conclusion. This emotion wasn’t like her's for Renly; small, and obsessed, which burnt out very quickly.

In contrast, her feelings for Jaime Lannister were like a flood that could not be contained, and she immediately knew that she was perfectly content to waste away her lonely heart pining for him to the end of her days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this wasn't the longed for "Netflix and chill" moment, but I think it brought our lovely couple into a greater emotional intimacy to prepare them for the next stage of their relationship. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> If anyone is interested, I imagined this as an analogue to the scene in Hot Fuzz where Nicholas and Danny get drunk and watch Point Break and Bad Boys 2 at Danny's house!
> 
> Next chapter... It is the night of Baratheon Properties' drinks reception and for Jaime and Brienne, things change...


	14. Proper Action and S***

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their dinner together, things change for Jaime and Brienne...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh I'm sorry this is late. I went out to the theatre to watch Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat and then fell asleep with Andrew Lloyd Webber stuck in my head. I didn't feel it was very conducive to writing JB tension!
> 
> I am once again absolute astounded at the feedback, comments and kudos from the last chapter. THANK YOU SO MUCH. Please keep them coming! Not only does it inspire me to write, as ever, but also makes this story better and challenges me to think about these characters in new ways, so please... MORE!

The first thing Brienne did when she woke up the next morning was check to see if she had a message from Jaime.

She didn’t.

Her heart sank. Last night had been so beautiful, so wonderful, so amazing, until it had suddenly been awful and embarrassing and terrible. To her, the most important part had been dinner, the talking, the strawberries, the cuddling, and the honesty, but she could understand if he was more concerned with the fact she had tried to bitch slap his twin sister.

As she made herself breakfast, she began typing out a message to him.

_Jaime, I’m really sorry for last night. I shouldn’t have gone for Cersei. I ruined everything._

She didn’t send it. Brienne tried again.

_Jaime, I had the most amazing time last night. You are everything._

She didn’t send that either. That morning, she devoted herself to furiously spring cleaning her flat, determined to not think of him at all.

_Jaime. Jaime. Jaime. Jaime. Jaime._

* * *

 

“So,” said Shae, sipping her tea. “How was the Moroccan tagine?”

On Sunday afternoon, Brienne found herself sitting with Margaery, Shae and Sansa in _Biscuits for All Occasions_ , drinking tea and gossiping. Brienne felt her face redden, suddenly realising that, as Jaime had got the recipe and the slow cooker off Shae, she knew about her and Jaime’s evening together. However, Brienne soon realised the problem was larger than she originally anticipated. The intense expressions on all three of her friends’ faces informed her that they were all, in fact, aware that Brienne had gone round to Jaime’s last night, and had discussed this topic at length before she arrived.

“Never mind the tagine,” said Margaery eagerly, “how was the _sex_?”

Brienne looked at her grumpily, “alright, Tommy Wiseau, calm down.”

Margaery rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a prude. You fancy him. He fancies you…”

Brienne interrupted. “He doesn’t fancy me.”

Margaery ignored that. “You went round to his flat. He made you a tagine that he had specially got the recipe for. Word on the street is that there was also some interesting mood lighting. There must have been some aggressive cuddling at the end, or what was the point?”

Brienne furrowed her brow. She didn’t quite understand Margaery sometimes. Brienne’s night curled up on the sofa next to Jaime had been much more exciting and intimate than any of the times she’d had an unimpressive shag with Hyle. Why was the whole night being rendered less than because their connection had been emotional not sexual? Brienne shook her head, trying to regain control of the narrative. “We didn’t have sex.”

“What?” said Margaery, Sansa, and Shae in unison.

“We didn’t do anything. We just talked… and watched a film… and he fed me strawberries. It was… really lovely.”

“Awww…” said Sansa, “that sounds freaking adorable.”

Margaery slammed her hand on the table. “We’re not here for _adorable_. We’re here for _proper action and shit_.”

“Well, there was no _proper action or shit_ ,” said Brienne testily. “Can you just leave it? I really enjoyed my time with him, and I don’t want people judging me for it.”

Sansa shot Margaery a look, that finally convinced her to pipe down.

* * *

 

On Monday morning, Brienne got up really early to make sure she beat Jaime to the station. She made her way up to the Chief’s office, where she found Tywin perusing some paperwork.

“Sergeant Tarth,” said Tywin, not looking up at her.

“Sir,” she said, “can I have a word?”

“Of course. How can I help?”

Brienne closed the door behind her. “I just wanted to talk to you about PC Tyrrell.”

Tywin looked at her, his observant eyes narrowing. “Go on then.”

“I think it would be a good idea if PC Tyrrell and I stayed on patrol together for another week. I think she is still dealing with Loras’ death, and I think it would help her to remain with me for a little longer.”

The corner of Tywin’s mouth curled upwards. “And why couldn’t PC Tyrrell tell me this herself?”

Brienne looked a little sheepish. “In truth, sir, this is not coming from her. This is coming from me. It is just an observation…”

Tywin put down his paperwork. “This sudden interest in PC Tyrrell’s wellbeing would have nothing to do with my son, I suppose?”

“No! Of course not!” Even as she said it, Brienne felt herself flushing. “I have nothing but the utmost professional respect for Jaime. This is purely about an observation I have made about PC Tyrrell.”

Tywin watched her a moment more, his expression unreadable. “Very well. If you feel that is best.”

“I do,” said Brienne. “Thank you, sir.”

After talking to the Chief, Brienne went to her desk, somewhat relieved. This way, if what she had done to Cersei had really driven a wedge between herself and Jaime, it would give Jaime the space he needed to not be angry at her, and she would have a way to gather her thoughts before trying to win him back. Brienne spent half an hour of contorted concern worrying over Jaime, Margaery, and the Chief before the rest of her colleagues arrived. In spite of a few polite nods of welcome to Ilyn and Robb Arryn, she kept her head down and got on with her paperwork. She only became distracted when one of her fellow officers put a cup of tea down on her desk, and she didn’t have to look to tell who it was.

“Morning Brienne,” said Jaime gently, and she was up on her feet facing him before he had finished speaking.

“Morning Jaime.” She wondered whether he had always been this beautiful to look at, or whether she was only just realising it now he was all that occupied her every waking thought. They stared at each other for a moment, before Jaime went to speak.

“Brienne, I need to apologise for Saturday night.” She hadn’t been expecting that. “I shouldn’t have told you to leave. _Cersei_ should have left – she was being rude and horrible. I’m sorry.” He took a breath, clearly mulling over his words. “I wanted you to stay... I wanted…”

She couldn’t take it anymore. Smiling with relief, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’ve got nothing to apologise for. It should be me. I started a fight with your sister. I made things awkward. We were having such a lovely time…”

“We were, weren’t we?” he mumbled into her shoulder.

“Of course. The best time.”

Brienne didn’t really care that they were standing in the middle of the staff room with their arms around each other, or that Ilyn was staring at them with a look of surprised curiosity. She was just happy that everything was alright between them.

“Wench, I…”

“Have you heard what the Chief has done?” came Margaery’s voice loudly as she appeared by the desk, butting into Jaime and Brienne’s conversation.

“No, not unless you’ve shouted it across the room recently,” said Jaime tartly, finally pulling away. Brienne tried to suppress a laugh.

“Tywin has insisted that we stay on the same patrol rotas as last week. That means I’m with Brienne, and you are with the Hound, Jaime.”

“Oh,” said Jaime, visibly disappointed. “That’s no good, is it wench?”

Brienne’s cheeks felt on fire. How had she cocked this up so badly? Why had she thought he would be angry? She now wanted nothing more than to reverse the last half an hour and undo her request to Tywin.

“He must have his reasons…” said Brienne.

“But a whole week,” said Jaime, gazing at her. “That’s too long to be parted from you.”

* * *

 

Even though Jaime went to talk to his father, Tywin did not change the rota, claiming that once he’d written it down on the form it was set in stone. However, it didn’t stop Jaime and Brienne seeing one another. Once their shifts had ended, they took to going down to _The Inn at the Crossroads_ with their colleagues for drinks. While the others tended to sit around, bitching and moaning, Jaime and Brienne would sit in the corner holding hands. Brienne wasn’t quite sure how or why this had become a thing – Jaime never commented on it – but it made her so happy she didn’t think of questioning it, or him.

It didn’t stop there. After they went their separate ways once they left the pub, one of them would always phone the other and they would spend the rest of the evening chatting, acting as if they were in the same room.

“What are you having for dinner?” Brienne would ask.

“I thought I’d just make myself a cheese sandwich,” Jaime would respond from the other side of the village. “I’m tired. I really can’t be bothered to make anything fancy.”

“I might join you in that,” Brienne would say, and they’d make sandwiches together.

He was the last person she would speak to every night, and she would fall asleep with his words ringing in her ears. It was all so weird. It was all so perfect. It was all so sad and happy and everything at once.

On Thursday, Brienne had to break this little routine she and Jaime had developed in order to go out shopping with Margaery and Sansa. Brienne knew she needed something to wear for Stannis Baratheon’s drinks reception that Saturday; she couldn’t wear the blue maxi dress again.

“Everyone who is anyone is going to be there,” said Sansa when they were in Margaery’s Mini Cooper on the way to the dress shop in Lannisport.

“Well,” said Margaery darkly, “not everyone.”

Brienne looked at her friend. “Who’s not going?”

“Cersei and Tywin. Given that she’s still furious at Stannis it’s only to be expected, but Tywin? I always thought he was one for keeping up appearances.”

Once they got to the shop, it didn’t take Margaery and Sansa long to pick the perfect dresses. Sansa chose a long flowing grey silk number, which had the outline of a tree beaded and embroidered across the body. Margaery picked a forest green cocktail dress, which was at least three inches too short to be socially acceptable. It took longer for Brienne to decide. Every single dress was designed for some other body shape than hers. The wrap dresses only made her lack of tits highly noticeable; the bubble dress the fact she had no feminine shape. She found a particularly beautiful purple dress with one shoulder, but it only made her look mannish and square shaped when she tried it on. She felt she’d gone through every dress in the shop when Sansa came into the changing room.

“I think I’ve found the perfect dress for you,” she said, passing it round the side of the curtain. Brienne had to admit; it was beautiful. It was a sky blue Grecian style dress with a gold tie round the waist. Slipping it over her head, Brienne dared to be hopeful.

Exiting the cubicle, she came out into the main area of the changing room, where Sansa and Margaery were waiting for her.

“Oh. My. God. Yes!” squeaked Sansa.

Margaery nodded. “Hawt.”

“Do you think?” Brienne said nervously, walking over to the mirror. As she stared at herself, she had to admit it wasn’t bad, and kept nervously smoothing the skirt over her thighs.

“I saw a lovely pair of gladiator sandals out the front,” said Sansa, piecing together the rest of the outfit in her head, “and I have a laurel leaf hair piece at home that you could borrow. It would look amazing, especially if we curl your hair.”

Brienne blushed, overcome by Sansa’s generosity. “Thank you.”

Sansa beamed at her. “Once we’ve finished planning this outfit, you will look every inch the absolutely awesome police officer you are.”

Margaery stood up, and came to stand next to Brienne, looking at her in the mirror.

“And even more importantly,” she said, “Jaime is going to want to jump your bones when he sees you in that.”

Brienne did not protest. Part of her dared to dream.

* * *

 

On Saturday night, Brienne was so excited that she felt sick to her stomach. Sansa and Margaery had arrived at Brienne’s flat to get ready, and the three women had spent the time listening to _Spice Girls_ and pre-drinking. Sansa served as Brienne’s style advisor and helped her pick out the correct jewellery that went with her dress. As planned, Sansa assisted Brienne in curling her hair and then crowned her with the laurel leaf hair piece she had promised.

“We look fucking amazing,” said Margaery once they were all ready. “I bet we are all going to pull.”

“Well,” smiled Sansa wickedly. “At least one of us is.”

It had been decided that the little group associated with the Casterly Constabulary who were getting taxis together would congregate at Brienne’s, as it was the most central, and then drive from there. Tyrion and Shae were the first to arrive.

“We all look amazing,” grinned Shae. “Tonight is going to be so much fun. It’s been ages since I’ve been to a swanky party.”

The Hound appeared next. He had been adamant that he wasn’t coming, until Margaery had insisted that he had to represent the Service and they could get a taxi together. For once in his life, he’d left Joff at home and, surprisingly, he was even wearing a suit. After that, there was only one more person left to arrive, and the thought of him was making Brienne slightly weak at the knees.

 _Calm down,_ she told herself, as she listened to the Hound and Sansa be introduced by Margaery, _this isn’t a thing. You are not even going to this party with him. You are just two people who happen to be going to the same party at the same time._

When Jaime eventually arrived, Brienne had to bite down on her lip to stop a little moan escaping from deep inside her. He was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen. Jaime was wearing a tuxedo, but because he had clearly gotten ready alone, he hadn’t been able to do up his tie and so had hung it lazily around his neck. Without saying a word, Brienne took several steps towards him and tied it for him, trying not to melt under the heat of his gaze.

“Thanks,” he whispered. “I knew you’d help me.”

“My pleasure,” she replied. She didn’t think she was capable of saying any more.

There was a little silence behind them from their group of friends, which Tyrion eventually broke. “Right, the taxis will be here any minute.” Just as he said it, the two taxis appeared around the corner.

“Thank Christ for that,” said the Hound. “The sooner we get there, the sooner I can have a drink. Are you going to join me, Little Bird?”

When the taxis pulled up, the group got in with little consideration for who was sitting where. Just by virtue of where they were standing, Brienne got into the second taxi along with Jaime, Margaery, and Sansa. “Shall I sit in the front?” volunteered Brienne.

“No!” said Sansa and Margaery in unison, a bit too forcefully.

“You get in the back first,” insisted Margaery, shoving Brienne towards the car door, “and then Jaime can sit next to you.”

Brienne obeyed and got into the taxi, scooting over to the far left. Jaime followed her, sitting in the middle, before Margaery took the seat on the right. Instantly spreading herself out, Margaery forced Jaime further over to Brienne’s side, which only set Brienne on fire in every place they touched. As Margaery’s manspreading grew even more ridiculous, Jaime lifted his arm and put it around Brienne’s shoulder to give them all more room. It took every piece of willpower not to just melt into him.

After the taxi had started its journey down the road, Jaime eventually turned to Brienne, his lips close to her ear. “You look like a goddess,” he whispered, making her cheeks flush. “I hope you don’t mind, but some point this evening I’m going to have to take you off into a corner to privately worship you.”

Brienne didn’t know what to say to that, so she let out a little laugh and buried her head in his shoulder, putting her hand on his chest. He seemed to like that, as he sighed, closed his eyes, and covered her hand with his prosthetic. They didn’t say anything to each other for the rest of the journey; in fact, Brienne wondered if Jaime had actually fallen asleep, because he kept his eyes closed. Margaery and Sansa took full advantage of the situation; from her seat in the front, Sansa would create heart shapes with her hands and point them at Brienne, while Margaery kept performing the internationally recognised sign for giving head over Jaime’s shoulder.

* * *

 

The Arlington Rooms were a beautiful venue for a very important event. They sat on the outskirts of Casterly and were large and spacious, with a ballroom at the centre. The ballroom had been kitted out with a great screen projector; Stannis was planning to give a talk detailing his plans for Casterly. Perhaps he hoped the guests would be too drunk to notice the finer details of his proposals, as he had the bar opened the second people started walking through the door.

“Come on wench, let me get you a drink,” said Jaime. “What do you want?”

“I don’t mind,” she replied, “surprise me.”

Jaime gave her one of his cutting smiles. “That’s dangerous.”

“I trust you.”

The look in his eyes softened at that. “I’ll be back in a minute. How about you go find us a table to prop ourselves up on?”

She agreed and they went their separate ways. The ballroom was large and had mostly been cleared to make room for waiters with canapes trays and perhaps dancing later, but there were still a few tables dotted around from its usual role as a restaurant. Brienne picked a high table at the corner of the room, which had a pot with packets of condiments at the centre. It didn’t have any chairs, but they could still stand and talk and would have a good view of the room. A moment later, Jaime returned with a drink.

“What the hell is that?” laughed Brienne.

“It’s a cranberry mojito,” smiled Jaime, “it’s just so you I couldn’t resist.”

He placed it in front of her, just as a waiter came and deposited a matching drink beside him.

“Jaime,” she smiled, “you are ridiculous.”

“You intend for me to take that as a compliment, I suppose.”

“Always.”

He stared at her for a moment, grinning stupidly, before saying. “Watch this!”

Brienne could only stare as he picked up a fork from the pot at the centre of the table and stabbed himself in the eye, grasping the wound with his prosthetic hand.

“JAIME!” shrieked Brienne, as blood came pouring out from behind his prosthetic. “Oh my god! You are bleeding!”

He started laughing, dropping his hand to reveal a hidden sachet of ketchup secreted behind his prosthetic hand.

“You fucking idiot,” she hissed, “don’t do that! You really scared me!”

“Sorry,” he said, going red. “It’s a trick I learned as a kid.”

Because of his stupid joke, there was now ketchup all over his prosthetic hand. “Look at yourself, you are now covered in ketchup! Are you an adult? Or a twelve year old boy?”

He grinned at her mischievously. “I’m never quite sure.”

Frowning, she could not help but look at the mess he’d made. “Jaime,” she tutted, leaning across the table to pick up a napkin. Dipping a corner in her mojito, she lifted it up to begin cleaning the prosthetic, moving in little circles to get rid of most of the mess. As she was concentrating so intently on the prosthetic, she hadn’t noticed his other hand had moved until he was drawing lazy circles on her free wrist with one finger. It felt nice, so she kept going, cleaning the prosthetic within an inch of its life, wanting to prolong the moment for as long as possible.

It was at that moment that the speeches began.

Melisandre appeared on the little dais at the front of the room, a microphone in her hand. “Welcome everybody to the opening drinks reception of _Baratheon Properties’_ “Casterly Project”, an exciting new plan for managing housing in twenty-first century rural communities. I would like to welcome Stannis Baratheon, the man behind this exciting new vision for our town. Stannis has worked for the past twenty years as an architect across the South West, first in partnership with his late brother Robert, and now as an independent businessman. Now, I won’t say much more because I cannot do his extensive work justice, so please put your hands together for the man himself… Stannis Baratheon.”

Stannis came onto the stage armed with a PowerPoint detailing the plans he had for Casterly. Due to the pressures on the South East, Stannis argued that with increased transportation links, Casterly could become part of the London commuter belt, and proposed an estate of two thousand new homes to be built to the north of Walder Frey’s farm. After showing how this would map onto Casterly, he took the audience through the designs of the individual houses. Most looked very similar to Storm’s End: they were a knot of polygonal shapes, of unusual colours, and one rarely went with the next. Stannis talked extensively about reimagining aesthetic beauty, and questioning the norms of rural architecture.

He finished with a rousing evocation of the future. “For too long we have been stuck in what our village once was, so I offer an alternative. This is a vision for the twenty-first century. I want to create a new Casterly.”

* * *

 

The hours flew by as Jaime and Brienne spent the rest of the night in one another’s company, just being together in a way she had never been with anyone before. After their dinner the previous weekend, she felt she could tell him anything, talk to him about whatever came to her mind, that he knew her in a way no one else did, and she the same about him. At least, she thought she did, until she saw the way his expression darkened when a particular song started across the speakers. It was Ed Sheeran’s _Thinking Out Loud_.

“Do you remember where they played this?” he asked gently.

“No?” she said, a little confused. “They play it all the time. It’s quite a famous song.”

Jaime carried on, unperturbed. “They played it at Margaery’s party. You came to ask Renly to dance with you and he turned you down.”

Brienne began to blush when she thought of that night. How she had so wanted Renly to dance with her. It felt like a different world, a different time, a different Brienne.

“Oh god,” she said, “don’t bring that up. I was so embarrassed. I’d drunk this absolutely awful cocktail to try and give myself the courage to just ask him, and it was all for nothing.”

Jaime didn’t seem to care about the specific details of her emotional state that night, however, as he continued. “You weren’t the only one who was embarrassed at that party.”

“Wasn’t I? Did someone vom on the carpet after I left?” she joked half-heartedly.

“No,” he said, “but there was someone there who asked you to dance and you turned him down.”

Brienne furrowed her brow. Her whole memories of that night were wrapped up in shame and upset, so much so that an offer like that might have broken her out of her sour mood. She thought she would have noticed if some bloke had offered to dance with her.

“Really?” she said a little incredulously, “I don’t remember that. Who?”

Jaime looked sad. “Me.” She blinked.

“ _Really_?”

“Yeah,” he said, “just before you stormed out.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. It was all she could think of saying.

He shrugged his shoulders, “don’t worry, you can make it up to me now.” He held out his good hand. “Dance with me, wench.”

Her eyes flicked to the dance floor. Nobody was really taking the opportunity to dance – most people were still skulking around the edges drinking – apart from Stannis and Melisandre. Although Stannis was no Brad Pitt, he towered over his date, who looked beautiful and feminine in his arms. Her red hair and red dress almost made her look like a flame, and instantly drew the eye. Brienne could never be that.

She let out a nervous little chuckle. “You don’t want to dance with me. Go dance with Margaery. She’ll be a better partner than me.”

Jaime’s expression remained the same. “I want to dance with _you_.”

Even though his gaze was steady and sure, she still felt a little reticent. Sensing her tension, he said, “I promise you I won’t throw a rose at your feet.”

Brienne gave him a nervous smile, before taking his hand and letting him lead her to the dance floor. She held up her arms, expecting Jaime to take her hand and adopt the traditional waltz pose, but instead his arms slipped round her waist and he pulled her close to him. Brienne was a little surprised, but in a moment she reciprocated, and let him rest his chin on her shoulder, just as Ed warbled “take me into your loving arms”.

Brienne suddenly loved Ed Sheeran more than any other Grammy Award winner in the history of song.

“Wench,” he mumbled into her hair. “You actually have to move. It’s called dancing. You can’t just stand there and let me do all the work.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, beginning to sway in time with him. She thought it would be awkward; she was a big woman and taller than him, so he had to look up at her when they danced. What she hadn’t expected was how well they moved together, how he seemed to anticipate when she would step a little too far and attempt to stand on his toes. With him whispering sweet words of encouragement in her ear, their chests pressed together, it seemed like their bodies just fit together. A perfect couple. A perfect match.

They danced together until the music was finally turned off.

* * *

 

As the proprietor of the Arlington Rooms had kicked out all the remaining guests simultaneously at midnight, there was a massive queue at the taxi rank.

“Shall we walk?” said Jaime, turning to Brienne. “It will probably take about the same amount of time as waiting for a taxi.”

Brienne nodded. “You’re probably right.”

“Come on then, wench,” he said, extending his hand to her. She took it wordlessly, which caused a smile to bloom on his face as they began to move away from the assembled partygoers, back towards the centre of the village. For once, they didn’t talk much. Brienne thought this was for the best; she didn’t feel she would have been capable of many intelligent words considering how good it felt to have Jaime’s fingers interlocked with hers.

“You’re shivering,” he said suddenly, “here. Take this.” He shucked off his Tuxedo jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders with gentle movements before taking her hand once more. How was it possible for him to be this sweet?

“Thank you, Jaime,” she whispered, “for a lovely evening.”

“You too, wench.” Her heart almost melted.

Too soon, they were back at Jaime’s flat. She didn’t know what she expected of him, but it was not that he would keep holding her hand. He looked at her with an oddly intense expression on his face. “Your place is over the other side of the village,” he said. “I’d hate for you to have to walk all the way back this time of night. Why don’t you crash at mine?”

She giggled. “Chivalrous all of a sudden, are we?”

“I’ve always been chivalrous,” he smiled.

She laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Back at mine I have my nice comfy bed with my snazzy new bed covers _and_ a new kettle. What do you have to tempt me at _Casa de Jaime_?”

“Well…” he said, finally dropping her hand so he could count the points on his fingers. “I have a brand new espresso machine we can try out tomorrow morning. I have not one, but _two_ bathrooms with fully functioning showers. And…” He paused, his words faltering for a moment.

“And?”

“ _And_ ,” he said, taking a very deep breath. “At my place there is a very attractive one handed police officer who would be totally up for you using him shamelessly for a night of debauched, drunken sex.”

It took a moment for what Jaime had said to register.

“Pardon?” she said, blinking as if he were shining a torch in her eyes.

His green eyes seemed to be boring into her skin. “You heard me, wench,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse, his breathing ragged. “I want you to fuck me… any way you want me… and I’m tired of waiting.”

She had heard him, but it didn’t make her heart hammer any less quietly. Had Jaime really just asked her to use him for sex? To have him _any way she wanted_? The idea seemed absolutely ludicrous. Jaime Lannister was gorgeous, whereas without make-up she looked like a baked potato. She thought he must be joking, but he kept staring at her with those big green eyes of his, and they seemed entirely devoid of mirth.

Maybe the wind was blowing in the right direction, maybe it was the alcohol, but for a moment, anxiety-ridden Sergeant Brienne Tarth of the Casterly Constabulary stepped back. From deep inside, in her place came Brienne, a girl who had had one too many mojitos and who knew what to do when an opportunity arose.

Jaime let out a surprised little groan as their lips crashed together, and it only deepened as she slipped her tongue between his teeth. Overcome with desire, Brienne pushed him back against the wall of his flat, cupping his face with both hands. He tried to reciprocate in spite of his prosthetic, all the while meeting her tongue with his as they went.

“Oh, Brienne,” he moaned against her lips.

She broke the kiss, “shut up and get inside. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that okay?
> 
> I know people have been wanting this for a while now, so I hope it wasn't a huge disappointment. I'm much better at stupid jokes than romance, so let me know what you think with a comment or kudos!
> 
> Next chapter... something a little bit different.


	15. The Wooing of Jaime Lannister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Lannister was always destined to fall hard and fast for Brienne Tarth...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry this is late. I think this is a bit of a monster chapter, so hopefully that will make up for the lateness!
> 
> As usual, I am amazed by the reactions to the last chapter - please leave comments and kudos, they give me inspiration and help me write! I also love to hear what you think of the story, my plot twists, and how it is matching up to Hot Fuzz!
> 
> I am also so here for everyone who was worried that Cersei was hiding in Jaime's flat at the end of last chapter. Don't worry - she's not!

The only reason he was even at the pub that night was because Taena had told him that they couldn’t keep doing this.

 _Jaime:_           What? I thought you liked sexting.

 _Taena:_          I do like sexting. But I want something more serious.

 _Jaime:_           I told you. We could have something more serious.

She didn’t respond to that, so after hanging on for another half hour he had gone to _The Inn at the Crossroads_ , determined to get hammered. He didn’t even care it was a Sunday, and let Pod pour him drink after drink in order to drown out his sadness.

“You really don’t need another one…” said Pod.

“Of course I do,” growled Jaime.

“But you already seem quite drunk.”

“That’s the point of drinking, isn’t it?” Jaime spat, “to get drunk?”

At that point, he noticed the most enormous blonde woman out of the corner of his eye. She was sitting down the other end of the bar from him, perched on her stool so stiffly it was as if she been nailed on. Just as Jaime went to turn back to Pod, she spoke to Davos, the other barman.

“I’m Brienne, Brienne Tarth. I’m the new police sergeant.”

That didn’t make any sense to Jaime. His father had told him his new partner was going to be some fat balding bloke called Brian.

“Wha?” said Jaime, blinking rapidly. “Shouldn’t you be called Brian?”

There was a pause, and then the new sergeant turned her head and looked at him for the first time. She was in her late twenties, but wasn’t wearing any make-up, so she appeared tired and pale. She had crooked teeth, a slightly wonky nose, and a terrible haircut.

_But, my God… her eyes._

“Who told you that?” she asked tersely.

He could already tell there was something tightly wound about her; in his drunken haze, he thought it might be quite fun to make her snap. “Everyone and their mum knows your name is Brian.”

She picked up her drink – _was she honestly drinking cranberry juice in a pub?_ – and it stained her lips as she took a sip. “Well,” she said, “everyone and their mum is wrong, then, because my name is Brienne.”

_Brienne with the blue eyes._

Suddenly possessed by the desire to talk to her, he got to his feet and swaggered over, feeling powerful. She didn’t move, but stayed nailed to her stool, looking up at him with something approaching contempt. What was it with women today about making him feel small? First Taena and now Brian. While he had initially wanted to be charming, now he wanted to piss her off.

“We were all expecting an old, near retirement, fat bloke with a gammy leg, because that’s what those London twats always send us. Not some big, ugly wench who looks like she could snap my neck if she tried to hug me.”

 _Wench,_ he thought. _Perfect._

He knew Pod and Davos were making whispers of protest even as he said it, but he ignored them. He wanted to see how she would react. If he had said the same thing to Taena, she’d have cried and accused him of undermining her self-esteem. Cersei would have ripped his face off. In contrast, the wench looked as if his pathetic words had no effect on her and just watched him with those intense blue eyes of hers. Feeling slightly trapped, he smiled at her, which did nothing to change her ferocious expression.

With every passing second, he just felt smaller… and smaller… and smaller…

And then she stood up and looked down on him, like he was a naughty little boy irritating her. He swallowed nervously, thinking about how long her legs must be for her to tower over him like that.

“You were saying?”

Suddenly, there was a scream from the other side of the pub. Jaime snapped his head around and saw Arya Stark laughing with Robert’s kid, Gendry, and two other friends. The wench’s eyes flashed as she marched up to them, accusing them all of being underage. Jaime couldn’t help but chuckle. It was his father’s ethos that small indiscretions like underage drinking should be condoned; it was only the serious stuff that needed punishing. Therefore, Jaime had not been bothered to do anything about Arya and her friends’ pints, especially considering the drama that was bound to happen if a Lannister got involved in yet another altercation with Gendry Waters.

Arya Stark was also quite famous for being a confrontational little shit, so Jaime was impressed that the wench managed to herd them all out of the pub with only her words and her eyes and her ferocity. She even gave Davos a tongue lashing on the way out that left the man looking a bit shamefaced.

_What a policewoman!_

Without even consciously thinking about it, Jaime abandoned his last beer and followed her out the pub. By the time he got outside, Arya, Gendry, Lommy, and Hot Pie were some distance away, but she was still watching them. He tried not to make a sound, gazing at her for a moment. Who was she? Folding her arms in the cold, she turned round to head back inside, and for a second her blue eyes were soft as she looked at him. They hardened with recognition, and in order to not show her how it affected him he said, “Oh hello Brian. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I thought you would have had our teenage rebels beheaded by now.”

She tightened up. “My name is not Brian.”

“What would you prefer I call you?” he snapped back. “Wench? I think I like wench. It rhymes with hench. The _big, ugly, hench wench_. I like that.”

It was rude, he knew, but he wanted a reaction. He wanted her fury. Instead, he just got more contempt, before she turned away from him and made her way back towards the pub. There was only one thing for it. He’d driven to the pub from his flat but had always planned to leave his car and walk home. What would she do if he attempted to drive?

“I hope you are not intending to drive that,” the wench said, “driving under the influence of alcohol is illegal.”

“I’d never do that,” he said, trying to get his keys into the car door.

He got his answer when he crashed into the war memorial. She was on him like a hurricane in a second. Flinging open the door of his Citroen, she hauled him out of the car by the scruff of his neck. The look in her eye told him he finally had possession of her fury.

“Right, I’m taking you to the station.” 

Jaime wanted to laugh. He raised his eyebrows at her. “You don’t know where it is, do you… wench?”

* * *

 

He got her fury again the next day when she realised that the obnoxious drunk she had kicked around Casterly the previous night was to be her new partner. Even as the wench spluttered and objected to his father’s decision, Jaime didn’t tell her he was happy with the arrangement. He could do with a partner who left the people she arrested covered in bruises, as she had done to him the previous night. As they walked down to the police car, he could see that his chat was irritating her, and it made him laugh how easy it was to wind her up.

Eventually, she snapped. “Look, I have come here to do my job. I don’t intend to piss about with you all day making stupid jokes, and the go and get bladdered in the evening. I want to be a good police officer, and this community deserves a police service that puts its interests first. Do you understand me?”

He wanted to laugh – it was as if she thought she was a member of the Miami Vice Squad. “Come on wench, nothing goes on around here. I guarantee you we’ll just end up sitting in the car all day bickering until our shift ends. There are ways to make it more exciting; I can buy you an ice cream, if you want. The chocolate gateau hasn’t completely broken the bank.”

It was a genuine offer, so he reached out to touch her, momentarily forgetting about his hand. He remembered when she flinched, and his smile fell. He tried to shake it off by laughing. “Oh, wench, you are not a fan of me, are you?”

She looked at him as if he was the most awful person in the world. “Stop calling me wench. And no, I am not a fan. I wasn’t aware when I took this job that I would have a hardened criminal as a partner.”

Was she really that naïve to think that he was the worst the world could offer? It made him laugh harder. “God, if you think I’m a hardened criminal you must have been sleeping on the job in London.”

That seemed to enrage her more than anything. “Don’t accuse me of being a bad police officer. I am, in fact, great at my job.”

He had to applaud her for her confidence. “How _modest_. Have you regularly been _cooking fools_ in the big city then?”

“You don’t need to be _cooking fools_ on the regular to be a good police officer. You just need to be there to serve your community. You need to make sure criminals are processed in accordance with the law and try your upmost to make sure both victims and perpetrators feel the police treats them fairly. We play a role in making sure people feel that society plays them a fair hand, and in order to do that, individual police offers have to operate to a certain standard and offer an example to the wider community.”

That’s what he’d believed once, before Aerys and Rhaella and Jaime suddenly felt as if he understood her more than he had previously; she was motivated by ideals greater than herself. It was quite endearing, if totally stupid.

In spite of his warm feelings towards her, he wasn’t quite ready for sincerity, so he tried to rile her. “How _noble_ , and I suppose you think being a good policeman doesn’t involve getting plastered and crashing into war memorials.”

“Police _officer,_ ” she spat at him.

He’d be sure to call her that from now on. 

* * *

 

For the next few days, Jaime and Brienne sat together in the car, bickering. He had to be honest – he was impressed, she didn’t put up with any of his bullshit. It also amused him the way she had easily chased him around the Somerset countryside as he honked at birds. He liked that she had a sense of humour, even though it was hidden under layers of frowns and seriousness.

Although they had only known each other a few days, Jaime had to admit that when he was forced to attend one of his father’s irritating NWA meetings, knowing that she was attending lessened the pain somewhat. As he waited for her to arrive, he had Cersei hanging off his neck, pressing her hand into his chest, wrapping her arm round his waist, all the while complaining about Stannis and Renly.

“They just take and take and take,” she snapped. “Don’t they think two children who have just lost their father should be with their mother?”

“I don’t know, Cersei,” Jaime said distractedly, looking out the window. “I don’t know Stannis and Renly, and I don’t work for the family courts.”

Brienne’s arrival eventually gave him an excuse to ditch his sister, and he bounded over, nervously running his hand through his hair. However, once he actually laid eyes on her, he had to stop himself falling over with laughter. She had turned up in the most serious little work suit he had ever seen, while all the other ladies were in cocktail dresses. The thought was so hilarious that he was still thinking on it that night when he went to sleep. It even followed him into his dream, where he laughed at her and she shouted at him for behaving like a stuck up bastard. That had made him feel guilty, so he had got down on his knees and begged for forgiveness. In return, she’d demanded punishment, thrown him down to the floor, and ordered him to take his clothes off. He had done so without complaint, and then got to his feet and taken that irritating suit off her too. When he woke up, hot and sticky and feeling like a horny schoolboy, he knew he was in big trouble.

* * *

 

Not only did Jaime have to deal with this weird attraction he had developed for the wench over the following weeks, their first few cases just proved to him how well they vibed together. They bickered and bantered all the time, but she parried him blow for blow, all the while being utterly devoted to her job, and doing the right thing by people who needed her help. Jaime only realised how deep he had sunk into a well of lust, awe, and professional respect for her when she had taken the morning off to go and give a presentation at the local girl’s school, and he felt himself gripped by nerves for her.

He had been forced to go on patrol with the Hound in her absence, and, as usual, he was being a miserable prick, so Jaime turned on his phone, hoping to have a message from Brienne to tell him how it was going. When he saw she’d given him nothing, he felt a little wounded, so over the course of several hours he sent her 136 messages. Most were stupid comments and complaints, but the last one was heartfelt.

 _Jaime:_           Wench, I miss you. I hope the talk is going well.

He spent the rest of the day in considerable pain, having been kicked in the bollocks first by the shoplifter, then absolutely eviscerated by Cersei for failing to capture the said miscreant. However, it was to prove his best day in a while, as Brienne agreed to go to the pub with him for the first time. He bought her a cranberry juice (and one for himself, he didn’t want her to think he was the type to get drunk after work), and although they were interrupted by their colleagues, it was nice to just be with her. Although it proved short, as she claimed to have a better offer, before she left he was able to wrap his arms around her. It just felt right.

* * *

 

 _Tyrion:_           BTW Jaime, Shae and I are having a BBQ this weekend to celebrate her finishing her thesis. If I were you, I’d invite someone, or you’ll be stuck listening to Cersei’s bitching.

Jaime instantly thought of Brienne. He wondered if she’d agree to come; if she did, he knew he’d have an absolutely great afternoon discussing absolute bullshit with her while everybody else pretended to know what Shae’s thesis was about. In his more excitable moments, he even imagined she’d wear a sundress – a light, airy, inconsequential thing that would reveal her shape – or even that suit.

It all came crashing down when she told him she was going to Longleat with Margaery. The worst thing was, she didn’t even seem to notice that he had been asking her out.

In her absence, his worst fears were realised, as at the barbeque he had to put up with Cersei’s bitching… again.

“Father says that Stannis will get what’s coming to him one day… we just have to wait…”

Luckily, at that moment, Shae had approached with a woman Jaime didn’t know.

“Hi Jaime,” said Shae, “I just wanted to introduce you to my friend Pia. We used to be in the same year at Casterly High, and she’s just picked up a shift at _T_ _he Inn at the_   _Crossroads_. I thought you’d get on.” Although he initially agreed to this conversation on this basis, Jaime quickly realised that they were entirely false pretences. Yes, while it may have been true that Shae knew Pia from school, it was clear that Pia had requested an introduction to him, as ten minutes in she was all over him, giggling at every stupid thing he had to say.

In exchange for getting pissed and sticking his tongue down her throat at the end of the night, Pia gave Jaime her number. He pocketed it, but he couldn’t help but wonder why it wasn’t this easy with Brienne.

* * *

 

In spite of his success with Pia, Jaime could only listen with his stomach in turmoil as Brienne told him about the park ranger at Longleat who tried to chat her up when she got back from her trip. She had been laughing as she told him.

“It was so weird. That never happens to me.”

 _It happens to you every day of the week, wench,_ he thought bitterly, _you just don’t seem to notice._

Due to this disturbing announcement from her, Jaime had tried a less traditional method of wooing Brienne. When Walder Frey had dared call her ugly and inexperienced, Jaime had grasped him by the shirt and threatened to punch him. “You are speaking of Casterly’s best sergeant, sir. Call her by her name. Call her Brienne.”

She had seemed angry and grateful, even though he said, “I just think that you deserve someone fighting your corner. And why not me?”

But once again, she just didn’t notice when he poured his heart out at her feet.

* * *

 

Jaime knew his best chance in weeks was going to come at Margaery’s birthday party. Feeling nervous, he tried on four different outfits, until he settled on something that he thought Brienne might like. Tyrion had once told him that he had read in  _National Geographic_ that the colour red made men more sexually appealing to women, so Jaime went with it.

Waiting for Brienne to arrive, Jaime hung around nervously in the lounge, chatting to the Hound. Jaime didn’t really listen to what he had to say, he was too busy running through a silly fantasy in his head that when Brienne got here, he would convince her to go into a cupboard with him and they would go at it like a couple of horny teenagers.

All such dirty thoughts about her were washed out of his skull, however, when Brienne finally made her appearance. She was wearing the most beautiful blue dress that accentuated her tall frame, her strong physique, and her unconventional, angular femininity. His heart was in his throat in a moment, and he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

“Hey Jaime,” Brienne had said stiffly, “I was expecting you to still be at the pub chatting up Pia.”

_Pia who?_

He took a couple of shaky steps towards her, trying to stop his desire making his throat run dry. Reaching out to her, he grasped her elbow, pulling her close so he could whisper, “wow, wench, that dress really suits you.”

To his surprise, she rolled her eyes. “What are you going to say next? Wow, wench, that dress really suits you… _it’s just a shame you are built like a brick shithouse_.”

He was confused. Did Brienne think he wasn't being serious? “No, I was just going to say it brings out your eyes. You have astonishing eyes, you know… they’re… they’re… really… _blue_.”

For the rest of the evening, Jaime could only watch as Brienne partied and drank more and more of Margaery’s awful cocktails. He wanted to approach her, to say something that would make her see him, but it all seemed too hard.

 _Just ask her to dance,_ he kept thinking, _what harm could it do?_

At one point he watched Brienne go out to the garden, where she bumped into his brother Tyrion. They were talking about something that had them both repeatedly look in his direction, so he tried to make his conversation with Renly look as light hearted as possible. His patience was eventually rewarded when, finally, Brienne began to march in his direction. A smile began to bloom on his face. Could he really be this lucky? Was she going to save him from having to pluck up the courage to ask her himself?

“Wench,” he beamed as she drew level with him.

 _This is it_ , he thought. _It’s really happening. She wants me too._

But then, to his horror, the scene changed.

“Hey Renly, I was just wondering if you wanted to dance with me?”

It was as if she had punched him in the gut. Jaime tried to suck in air as his eyes turned to Renly, the most obviously gay man in the room, as he turned down the lovely Brienne in favour of Loras.

 _This is all wrong,_ thought Jaime, _I’m here, Brienne. I'm here._

As Renly and Loras moved away, Jaime could see a heartbreak clawing at Brienne’s insides that matched his own. She had gone a brilliant red and tears were welling in her eyes. In her sadness (or perhaps humiliation) she began to make a move towards the exit, but in a sudden fit of chivalry, he decided to go after her.

“Wench, where are you going?”

“Not now, Jaime, please.”

She looked so sad that he did the only thing he could think would cheer her up. “If nothing is the matter you can dance with _me_. I may have five years on that pretty boy Renly, but I can still do a mean two step.”

Jaime would never have believed Brienne could be so callous, if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. She accused him of making fun of her before storming out, leaving his heart smashed into a million pieces on the floor.

* * *

 

The week he spent forcefully separating himself from Brienne to save his own sanity was one of the hardest he could remember. Every day he would have to look at her hopeful blue eyes when she tried to reel him back into being her friend.

“Do you want to go for a drink at _The Inn at the Crossroads_?”

“Jaime, what do you think of the cider selection at _The Inn_? Have you got a particular one that is your favourite?”

“Have you ever been to the bowling alley at Lannisport?”

On Wednesday, he decided to blow her off in favour of going to eat Moroccan tagine round Tyrion and Shae’s house (which, in the end, wasn’t a bad plan because it was delicious), but the only day Jaime had a genuine excuse not to see Brienne was the Thursday, when he went on a date with Pia.

They went to _The Picturehouse_ to watch some slasher film. Pia seemed to have chosen it so she would have an excuse to throw herself into his arms at any given opportunity, and by the last third of the film they had given up watching entirely in favour of Jaime sticking his hands up Pia’s top and making her moan. The human contact made him feel a little better, even if Pia’s warm body just made him think of the woman he really longed to have in his arms.

When he got home, Jaime was surprised to find he had a message from Brienne.

 _Brienne:_           How did the date go?

He quickly typed out a response: _terrible, because it wasn’t with you,_ but deleted it before sending it.

That she had decided to get in contact with him just made him feel even more confused, lonely, and horny than he already was, so he masturbated furiously to the thought of her in her blue dress before falling asleep.

On Friday, he was once again trapped in the police car with Brienne, feeling her pressing need to be his friend again. She asked if everything was all right between them.

_No, you hurt me._

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Why do you say that?”

She shrugged, her eyes trained on him. “It just seems to me that ever since Margaery’s party… we’ve not been as we usually are. I know I was rude to you, and I’m sorry about that. I was embarrassed and upset, but that’s no excuse for how I behaved. I just… thought Renly liked me, and when he didn’t dance with me it was like having a carpet ripped from under my feet, you know? I know it’s no excuse…”

The tortured repentance in her eyes utterly melted him. “That’s alright, wench. You don’t have to explain. I know what a broken heart feels like.”

_You broke it._

“But I do,” she insisted. “It wasn’t right for me to hurt your feelings and ruin our friendship just because I was embarrassed and sad.”

“You didn’t ruin our friendship. We’re still friends.”

_And if that’s all you ever want from me, wench, it’s better than nothing._

* * *

 

Jaime and Renly had never been best friends, but the second his father rung him to tell him there had been a major accident and Renly was dead, Jaime’s heart had broken for Brienne. He thought it best if he be the one to call her; anyone else would be insensitive and wouldn’t even be aware of the effect their words could have on her fragile heart.

What she did next, however, totally shocked him. Instead of curling up into a ball and crying, she went with the rest of the team to the crash site and started busily examining the scene. He reached out to her, wondering whether she was in shock.

“You don’t have to stay. I can talk to my father, I can…”

“And say what?” she said, steel in her voice. “I’m here to do my job. _Renly_ would have wanted me to do my job.”

“Of course,” said Jaime, blindsided by her bravery and her commitment, burning with pride. “I’d expect nothing else.”

The first time she permitted herself to cry was at Renly and Loras’ funeral, when the drag queen began singing Sinatra’s _My Way_. She looked so sad, so vulnerable, that he wrapped her in his arms and stroked her hair. Even though she was grieving, he couldn’t ignore how natural it felt to have her there, how soft her skin was, how much he liked how she smelt. Jaime stayed with her for the rest of the day and helped her totter home when she was smashed. She was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen, even though she was large and ungainly and awkward.

_She was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen because she was large and ungainly and awkward._

“I’m so pissed…” Brienne sung cheerfully as she threw herself down on her sofa, while he moved round her flat, getting her water and making her tea and straightening things up.

“If you don’t drink some water, you’ll have a terrible hangover tomorrow,” Jaime said. “Take it from a hardened drinker like me.”

“I’ll drink some water,” she promised sleepily. Brienne closed her eyes, and Jaime wanted nothing more than to curl up beside her to keep her warm. However, instead of giving into that impulse, he decided to be helpful, and began to take off her ankle boots, even though it was difficult with one hand. Jaime wasn’t a foot man but, once he took her socks off, he thought he could be if Brienne wanted him to be.

To wind him up, she began to roll her ankles.

“You are so _irritating_ sometimes,” he said.

_And so lovely._

Eventually, she began scolding him for fretting over her too much.

“You are treating me _exactly_ like a baby. You’ve literally wrapped me up in a blanket and made me a hot drink. The only thing you haven’t done is kiss me goodnight.”

His heart nearly stopped. _Was that an invitation?_

“You don’t want me to kiss you,” he had insisted, mostly to suppress the hope that was now violently surging through him.

“How do you know what I want?”

 _That_ was _an invitation._

Knowing she was grieving and drunk, he had decided not to do what he really wanted – to kiss her and rip off her clothes – but instead left a chaste little kiss on her cheek that he hoped would get her burning for him. The surprised look he received made him think – well, hope – that maybe it might have worked.

As he walked home under a sky full of stars, he wondered whether it was possible to dream that she could love him back.

_Love him back?_

It was quick, it was stupid, it was foolhardy, but as Jaime stared up at the heavens, he realised it was true.

He was deeply in love with Brienne Tarth.

 _Oh fuck._  

* * *

 

The day after the wake, he met up with Pia, but every time he kissed her, all Jaime could think about was Brienne. The way Brienne felt in his arms. Brienne and her cute big feet. Brienne’s hand under his. That was a little unfortunate, as it was on this particular date that Pia had decided it was about time they had sex. She pounced on him after she had asked to use his loo after she’d dropped him home, and before he knew it, he was lying on his bed with Pia grinding on top of him.

“I was only in Year Seven when I first saw you,” she said, running her hands up and down his chest. “And the headteacher announced you the head of the Year Eleven Football Team. You were so handsome all in white, and everyone said what a great footballer you were. When I was a teenager, when I was with some boy, I’d close my eyes and pretend it was you on top of me, with your smooth skin and gold curls.” She kissed him passionately, before breaking away. “I never truly thought I’d have you, though.”

She undid his shirt and began to kiss his neck, before trailing her lips down the centre of his chest, going lower and lower. He closed his eyes and thought of Brienne’s lips, Brienne’s eyes, Brienne’s hands. Even though she wasn’t here, even though she didn’t care that he was in bed with another woman, it felt like he was betraying her.

Even as his erection bulged, he knew he wasn’t emotionally capable of it. “I can’t do this,” he said as her lips reached the top of his trousers. “I’m sorry Pia.”

Pia looked up from her position by his crotch, momentary confusion in her eyes, before crawling back up the bed to lie next to him. “It’s Brienne, isn’t it?” she said gently. “You like Brienne.”

“I _love_ Brienne,” he whispered, his voice breaking. He was so pleased that truth now existed outside himself, even if it was with Pia.

She sighed and leant over to kiss him on the cheek, before getting up from the bed and putting her shirt back on. “Well, why are you here fooling around with me and wasting all our time?” she asked, doing her buttons up. “I like you, Jaime, but did you really think you could just half-heartedly date around and never confront what you feel? Why aren’t you getting it on with her?”

The thought of getting with Brienne felt like a distant dream. He could still see the way she had looked past him, looked through him to turn to Renly and ask for a dance. “It’s like she can’t see me when she looks at me, even though I’m right here.”

There was a sadness in Pia’s face, so he shut his mouth. “ _I’m_ right here,” she said.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She turned away from him and went to look for her shoes, coat and bag. He thought to get up, to help her out, but it didn’t seem right.

“Do yourself a favour and go get her, or you’ll regret it forever,” Pia said, just before she shut the door of his bedroom, disappearing into the night.

* * *

 

Now there was nothing holding him back, Jaime was going to make sure Brienne knew how he felt. Except, he couldn’t actually _tell_ her how he felt, because he was sure she’d either not understand, or look right through him like she did at Margaery’s party.

He decided to go for the subtle route, thinking that if they played word association, he could make every word about love and romance, and she’d pick up the hint.

“Love,” he began.

“Friendship,” she countered. He tried not to feel vaguely disappointed.

He reeled through more words, trying to get back on topic. “Eyes,” said Jaime.

“Blue.”

That made him think of her eyes, so he turned to look into them. He found himself momentarily lost, just regurgitating words that followed hers, until she said something that made him feel like he had crashed into a wall.

“Pia.” As she said it, she blushed furiously. He had to admit, that gave him hope, so he tried to squirrel the truth out of her.

“You are not allowed to use any proper nouns in this game, that’s cheating. And anyway, she’s not my girlfriend.”

“No?” Brienne asked, her expression unreadable.

“No. I ended it,” said Jaime emphatically.

Brienne furrowed her brow in that cute way that always made him smile. “Why? You seemed happy with her on Saturday. When did you end it?”

He decided to skirt as close to the truth as possible without telling her how he felt. “I made the decision while walking back from yours after the wake. I realised I’d never feel for her the way she wanted me to. It didn’t seem fair to lead her on. I told her yesterday.”

Brienne seemed sad about that, but he couldn’t work out why. “It might have grown, it was only a new relationship.”

“No, it wouldn’t have,” he sighed, gazing into the eyes of the ruler and mistress of his love. “I only have so much room in my heart, and it’s all occupied at the moment.”

That made Brienne’s face fall even further. He didn’t know what it meant. _Unless…_

“Aren’t you going to ask me…”

Suddenly, there was a screech of tyres and Brienne was chasing Arya Stark down the road. He didn’t have time to finish his sentence.

_Aren’t you going to ask me who occupies my heart?_

By the time he caught up with Brienne, she and Arya had decided they needed a little chat, so Jaime led them to a nearby café he knew. Realising that Brienne would probably like a moment alone with Arya, he excused himself and went up to the counter of _Biscuits for All Occasions_. There, he found the manager, Jorah Mormont, staring wistfully at a picture of a woman with white blonde hair he had stuck up on the noticeboard.

“Do you really have biscuits for all occasions?” asked Jaime, surveying the options laid out on the counter.

“Yes,” said Jorah, stepping forward. “Christmas. Easter. Midsummer. Birthdays. Whatever you want.”

“Do you have a biscuit that could make a woman fall in love with you?” joked Jaime, briefly looking over his shoulder at Brienne.

Jorah shook his head. “I wish, but no. We do have some heart-shaped shortbread though, if you think that’s her bag?”

The shortbread was the most expensive option on the menu, but it looked pretty tasty, and had a dainty red design on it as well. “Alright, I’ll go for that.” He also picked up some gingerbread for him and Arya and three teas, which he put on a tray. Carrying it with some difficulty, he eventually got back to the table and put the tray down in the centre. Almost immediately, Arya made a grab for the heart shaped biscuit, and Jaime had to swat her away.

“That one is for Brienne.”

Brienne then picked that moment to give him an admonishing look, so he smiled at her, and placed his gift on its little paper plate in front of her. “That one is yours.”

He watched as she picked up the biscuit, unaware of the all the symbolism and meaning he’d imbued in its sugary goodness. As Arya continued her story, Brienne broke the biscuit into pieces and ate them slowly, one at a time, not looking at him as she did so.

 _This is what you call a metaphor, I suppose,_ thought Jaime gloomily.

* * *

 

“I need help,” said Jaime, when he next found himself sitting with Tyrion, drinking beer and watching football.

“Lady problems?”

“Lady problems,” Jaime confirmed sadly, taking a sip of his beer.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” confirmed Tyrion, “I am the god of tits and wine.”

“I don’t need the god of tits and wine at the moment, thanks very much,” said Jaime huffily. “More like the god of love and romance. Do you happen to be him as well?”

Tyrion chuckled. “Of course. I’m the many faced god.” He took a sip of beer. “Why do you need that particular face? Have you still not convinced Brienne to go out with you?”

Jaime nearly choked on his beer. “How do you know I love Brienne?”

That nearly caused Tyrion to fall off his chair. “LOVE. Who said anything about love?!?! I thought you just fancied the girl.”

“Don’t call her a _girl_ ,” said Jaime, thinking it belittled her. “She’s a woman. She’s an amazing police officer. She’s a lady. She’s…”

“Alright, alright, Romeo. I don’t want a soliloquy.” Tyrion scratched his head. “Okay, so you love her – god that’s _weird_ , I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that – but what have you tried to do about it?”

Jaime stretched his mind back over the weeks and months he had known Brienne. “I’ve asked her out several times now – she either point blank refuses, goes on safari with Margaery, or we actually get in the vicinity of a pub and then all our colleagues turn up.”

Tyrion rubbed his chin, thinking about it. “Right. How do you ask her to go out with you? Directly? Or is it more _Oooh, Brienne, do you want to edge sideways into the pub_ _with me, so I can accidentally trick you into a date?_ ”

Jaime sunk into his chair and took a large gulp of beer. “Probably the latter option…”

“Okay…” said Tyrion, as if this was some sort of serious mathematical puzzle he was trying to solve. “And have you done anything else to show her how you feel?”

Jaime thought about it. “I’ve just done what I normally do when I try and charm a woman.”

“Which is?” Jaime tried not to blush.

“Just make an innuendo occasionally. They usually come running.”

The lowest point of this process had been when he had watched Brienne wrestle with the drunken Dontos Hollard when they were trying to arrest him, and Jaime had got so turned on by the expert way she had rugby tackled Dontos to the ground and put him in handcuffs, he’d only been able to growl at her: “I’d leave you much more exhausted than that if you ever tried to pin me down and handcuff me, wench.” Jaime felt it was all very beneath him for a midweek afternoon, but she turned him into an animal.

Tyrion rolled his eyes and got to his feet, going over to the fridge to get them both another beer. “Thank god you are a handsome son of a bitch,” said Tyrion, “or you’d have died a virgin.”

Jaime groaned. “What am I doing wrong?”

“Everything,” said Tyrion emphatically, “but we can work on it. You just need to convince her to go on a date with you. Make sure you use that word – _date_ – so she knows this is a sexual thing and not just two colleagues hanging out. Then… I have a plan to make sure you give her the night of her life.”

* * *

 

Tyrion’s plan was typically Tyrion:

**Operation Get Jaime and Brienne Laid Group Chat**

**Participants:** Tyrion Lannister (Administrator), Jaime Lannister, Margaery Tyrrell, Sansa Stark, Shae Smith, Bronn Blackwater.

 _Tyrion:_           You want mood lighting. Candles. I’ll steal some of Cersei’s scented ones from the Rock next time I visit if you want. Make it dark as possible. You look less ugly that way.

 _Jaime:_            Thanks brother. You really make me feel confident.

 _Sansa:_             Watch a movie. Either a horror so if she gets scared, she can cuddle you, or something soppy and romantic. If you go for the romantic film QUOTE AT HER.

 _Shae:_           Nice food. The way to a woman’s heart is nice food.

 _Jaime:_            Can I be a dick and have your tagine recipe? IT WAS AWESOME.

 _Shae:_             Sure. I’ll send it over.

 _Bronn:_           I haven’t even met this bird, but I think you should put a box of condoms somewhere really prominent. Give her the hint.

 _Margaery:_      DON’T DO THAT. She’s such a delicate flower she’ll run a mile.

 _Margaery:_       Wear a sexy shirt though.

* * *

 

Jaime followed his friends’ advice; well, all except Bronn. He was going to romance Brienne so hard that she didn’t know what had hit her. Candles. Music. Amazing food. A sexy shirt. A stupid romantic film. And then at the end they’d get totally naked and he’d make love to her until they were too tired to ever get out of bed again.

When he heard the knock on his front door, he had to stop himself from sprinting. Trying to be cool, he attempted to swagger to the door, but he eventually found a happy medium with a jog. He had been thinking about what to say to her when she arrived for some time, but when he finally laid eyes on her, every single clever opener dropped out his head because she was draped in the blue masturbatory fantasy dress.

“Brienne,” he said, his throat dry. “You should have warned me you were planning on wearing that dress again. You’ll give a man a heart attack.”

Her face fell at that, and he cursed himself for being shit with words. “Hey, it was a compliment. You look beautiful, truly.”

At the word beautiful, he had expected her to flower suddenly, like every other woman he had ever said it to. Instead, she looked at him uneasily. He’d have to win her over some other way.

“Come in, I’m just getting everything ready.”

 _Tonight is my one chance,_ he thought. _I can’t fuck this up._  

* * *

 

**Operation Get Jaime and Brienne Laid Group Chat**

**Participants:** Tyrion Lannister (Administrator), Jaime Lannister, Margaery Tyrrell, Sansa Stark, Shae Smith, Bronn Blackwater.

 _Margaery:_       Right guys, the first reviews are in.

 _Tyrion:_           And…?!?!?!

 _Margaery:_     “We didn’t do anything. We just talked and watched a film and he fed me strawberries. It was really lovely.”

 _Bronn:_          Mate… I’d be disappointed if a bird called my dick really lovely. That’s patronising, and makes it sound like a cute button mushroom.

 _Tyrion:_           JAIME!!! What did you do? We set everything up perfectly. WHY DIDN’T YOU CLOSE THE DEAL?

 _Shae:_          What happened?

…

 _Jaime:_            Cersei happened.

 _Bronn:_          FFS not that bitch.

* * *

 

After his dinner with Brienne, he muted Taena’s message that she was coming to Casterly in a few weeks’ time and wanted to hook up. He didn’t have time for that stupid vapid relationship anymore, not now he was in love.

His thoughts were all on how to make it right with Brienne. Even though he had thought Cersei had ruined everything for him, it turned out she hadn’t. When he tried to apologise to her on Monday, the world’s best police officer threw her arms around him and told her he didn’t need to because she had had the best time with him. It took all his strength not to melt into her arms and tell her he loved her in the middle of the staff room.

And then it was all fine. Despite the fact his father had cocked up the patrol schedules, suddenly it didn’t matter if he couldn’t spend time with her in the day, because he was with her in the evening. They went to the pub and held hands and then they talked on the phone for hours and hours, like they were boyfriend and girlfriend. Even so, he resisted kissing her and he didn’t label what was happening. In his mind they were dating, but he knew the wrong words could still scare her away, and he didn’t want that.

 _Take it at her pace,_ he told himself. _Let her come to you._

That plan went to hell when she turned up to Stannis Baratheon’s drinks reception on Saturday dressed as the goddess of love. Things were only made worse by the fact Margaery insisted on hogging the whole backseat of the taxi on the journey there, meaning Jaime was pushed against Brienne’s soft, tender, kissable body. He just about managed to purr out a small compliment before he had to close his eyes in an attempt to shut down his senses and beat down the raging boner that was set to overtake him.

His resolve to hold back collapsed as the night went on; as he drank more cranberry mojitos, as she blushed when he lightly stroked her wrists, as she became awkward and vulnerable in his arms as they danced. When she took his hand at the taxi rank, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. He suggested they run off into the darkness together, and she agreed, blushing and blushing and blushing.

When she got cold and he gave her his jacket, she looked so thankful he thought he would burst.

“Thank you, Jaime, for a lovely evening,” she whispered.

_I’ll make it even lovelier, wench, I promise._

Back at his flat, she asked him what could tempt her at _Casa de Jaim_ e. He thought of saying something romantic, but it didn’t come out right.

“I want you to fuck me… any way you want me … and I’m tired of waiting.”

He didn’t quite know what to expect – would she shout at him, curse him, or kiss him? In the moment of confusion that followed, he thought he would drown in her eyes, just as he nearly had in _The Inn at the Crossroads_ the first time he met her.

Jaime got his answer when she shoved him against the wall and commanded him to shut up and get inside.

_God, I’ll be this woman’s bitch until the day I die._

He tripped over his own feet in an effort to get her upstairs into his bed without having to break their kiss. At one point, he nearly fell flat on his arse at the top of the stairs, and only her arms kept him upright. She laughed against his lips. He’d never been so happy.

They only stopped kissing when he sat down on the bed, trying to coax her to join him, but she stayed standing above him, fixing him with an uneasy look.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, placing his hand in the small of her back.

“Nothing.”

“Good,” he said, pulling her towards him, running his hand over her stomach, but she resisted again. Her blue eyes suddenly betrayed her nervousness.

“Shall I lay down?” she asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Was this all sex had been for her before? A few unsatisfying thrusts while she laid back and thought of England? He would do better.

“No. I want you on top of me,” he croaked, “I want you all over me.” He went for her hips this time, determined to pull her onto his lap, onto his hardness. God, he needed her to know how much he wanted her, so during her hesitance, he began to kiss her breasts through her dress.

Brienne had gone such a deep maroon colour that he almost wanted to laugh. “I’m bigger than you,” she mumbled, “I don’t want to crush you.”

“Crush me,” he demanded, kissing her in between every phrase. “Break me. Ruin me. Fuck me. I don’t care. I want to be yours.”

At that, her resistance broke, and she straddled him. He responded by grinding into her and encouraging her to take off his shirt, which she did without hesitation, running her fingers over his pecs, through his chest hair, dropping kisses along his jawline. The electricity of her touch meant it was no longer enough to have a clothed goddess on top of him. Lifting her off his hips, he caught the hem of the goddess dress and pulled it up and over her head, revealing the strong, Amazonian body he wanted to cover in kisses. Brienne wasn’t wearing a bra, so he didn’t waste his opportunity and attacked her nipples with his lips and tongue, wrapping his arms around her waist in order to lock her into his desire.

She was everything. As he sucked at her, kissed her, bit her, bruised her, she ran her hands through his hair, holding him in place, forcing him to keep giving her this pleasure. Her moaning drove him wild, and he wanted nothing more than to serve her, to offer her his body in any way that would satisfy her. He surrendered to her desires, only objecting to her forceful hands when he wanted to touch the long freckled legs that he’d been dreaming of since he first saw her in _The Inn at the Crossroads_ , and that hidden place he’d long fantasised about. He ran his hand up the inside of her right thigh, growing closer to her heat every second.

On sensing where he was heading, she started to withdraw. “What are you doing?” she asked in a tiny voice, frozen. He knew it was dangerous to push too far.

He lifted his lips from her chest to look into her eyes and smile at her, in a way he hoped was reassuring. “Something nice,” he murmured, slipping his hand under the soft fabric of her underwear into the inviting wetness. At the sensation, she let out a surprised little gasp, which made him groan. Not wanting there to be any space between them, he claimed her lips, pleasuring her all the while.

In her innocence, it ultimately got too much for her, and she broke the kiss and buried her face into his neck, riding his fingers, moaning. It was mostly incoherent, but she eventually managed to whimper “why are you doing this to me?”

He didn’t answer but kept stroking her most secret places. What was the point of saying anything? Brienne didn’t seem to believe him when he told her she was beautiful, so why would she believe him if he said that he loved her? Sometimes, he was scared that she distrusted his touch, that she thought he feigned this burning desire he had for her. It was at times like that he wanted to go and kill Red Connington.

But surely there was no way she could mistake this for anything other than it was? It was a fire; the same type of crazy, erotic, passionate love she had told him didn’t exist. He was determined to make her believe it did – with his words, his mouth, his body, his cock. He unzipped his flies. It was the best way he could tell her the truth; to bury himself inside her and moan her name in her ear as he made her come.

Surely, she would then understand how much he loved her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnddddd I hope you enjoyed that. 
> 
> I found that very tough considering I've been in Brienne's brain for so long, and also I'm totally shit at writing smut, so I hope the last bit wasn't too terrible! I really wanted to write a nice love scene for these two dweebs, so hopefully it worked :D
> 
> This chapter, I thought it would be interesting to do a Jaime POV at this point so we can get a lie of the land before we charge off into the next bit of the story. Please let me know what you thought of Jaime with comments and kudos - did I get him right? Or did you imagine him differently?
> 
> Next chapter... The Bang that was Promised...


	16. The Bang that was Promised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events in Casterly take a dramatic turn...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for coming back after my detour into Jaime POV land! We are back with Brienne this chapter.
> 
> I am once again overwhelmed and amazed by the comments and kudos - please keep them coming! They help me to be a better writer and understand these characters more.
> 
> So, last time we ended up in slightly smutty territory, and we are staying there again for a little while. If you don't like that sort of thing, skip to the first big black line. You can fill in the blanks yourself, and won't miss much plot!

That was not her bedroom ceiling.

Her ceiling had a hint of mould and was white.

This ceiling was mould-free and off white.

She then felt a slight prickle on her shoulder. Not wanting to turn her head, she just used her peripheral vision to take a look. Jaime Lannister’s chin was resting on her shoulder, his stubble rubbing against her skin, his breath tickling her neck. Brienne then looked down. The duvet was round her waist, but she wasn’t cold because his left arm was slung across her breasts and his legs entangled with hers.

 _Oh god,_ she thought, _what have I done?_

She remembered every moment of last night; the feel of his hands on her face, on her waist, his weight between her legs. His fingers. His tongue. His words. _His eyes._ The room still smelt of what they had done. He was snoring ever so slightly, and the sound made her heart trip over itself.

It was Brienne’s first one night stand. The one time she slept with Connington there had been an unsaid promise they would do it again, and with Hyle it had been part of a sort of relationship. In contrast, Jaime had just asked her for one night of drunken sex; probably because he was horny, possibly because he wanted to know what it was like to get a leg over the ugly wench, or maybe both. Now the effect of the mojitos had cleared, Brienne could think clearly. She had been stupid; she had only acquiesced to his outrageous demand to fuck him because of her own wasted feelings. For him, her body was just an aid to masturbation.

The thing that made it even worse was that it had been the best sex of her entire life. Before Jaime, she had only slept with Red Connington and Hyle. During her time with Connington, she had romanticised his pursuit of his own pleasure, and while Hyle scratched an itch, it had never been anything more. In contrast, Jaime had been affectionate. As a continuation of his normal behaviour, Jaime had not stopped talking. He told her how he loved her hair, how her legs went on for days, how soft her skin felt, how he wanted to count her freckles, how he couldn’t believe this was happening, how amazing she tasted, how good she made him feel. He had been considerate. When she had reached out for his dick, he had pushed her hand away.

“No,” he moaned, as if she were denying him something, “it will be over too soon. I want to fuck you with my tongue first.”

That comment had made her nervous. When she had been with Hyle, he had never thought much beyond his own pleasure and he almost certainly had never done anything like _that_ to her before. Brienne tried to relax, laying back against Jaime’s duvet and parting her legs slightly, waiting. The sight of her like that seemed to make Jaime laugh, so he cuddled up beside her and began to kiss her neck, running his hand along her collarbone.

“Aren’t you going to…?” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

He smiled at her wickedly. “Oh, no, wench… not like this…” he murmured in her ear, so quietly she almost couldn’t hear him. “I want you to sit on my face.”

 _That_ turned out to be an experience she would never forget until the day she died. After Jaime had finished feasting on her, leaving her shaking with desire, he had seized control, climbing on top of her and entering her roughly – claiming her, possessing her, taking her – and they had engaged in what Margaery had earlier termed “aggressive cuddling”. To be honest, Brienne had thought it was the perfect phrase to describe what they did, because it was hard, passionate, and comforting all at once. Jaime didn’t even leave her feeling dirty once it was all over for him, as he had not retreated swiftly like Hyle used to do. Instead, he had kissed her gently as their desire had dissipated, then mumbled he needed to go to sleep and he’d see her soon. As sleep took him, he draped himself around her, and she just gazed at him for a while, her heart breaking knowing this was solely the product of cranberry mojitos.

And that wasn’t even the most painful thing of all. He _knew_ what Red Connington had done to her, and yet he had done the exact same thing. Nobody could actually _mean_ all those things he had said to her to last night. Words like that belonged to beautiful women, not her. Brienne had been able to accept Hyle’s advances because she had always been aware of their carnal nature, but Jaime’s wide-eyed adoration? It was all a set-up to make fun of the big, ugly wench… _surely._ No matter how many pretty words he used, he couldn’t trick her the way Connington had done. She wouldn’t fall for it again.

Even as she felt Jaime’s warmth beside her, Brienne stuck together a string of words that would allow her to push him away: _it was just drunken, mistaken, pity sex. He was horny, and I was desperate._

That thought made it easier to extract herself from under his arm. He let out a little grumble as she did so, but he continued to sleep. Once she was free, she scrabbled around the room for her clothes, putting them on hurriedly, but silently.

Jaime looked so handsome lying there, with his golden hair and his lithe body. Even his stump didn’t diminish his beauty; it was so imperfectly wonderful, so _him_. When she had first seen him naked, he had seemed reluctant to touch her with his prosthetic hand, so she told him to take it off if it would make him more comfortable. The smile he had given her when she had said that had nearly broken her heart.

 _Lies,_ she told herself, _all lies._

He didn’t wake when she shut the front door of his flat and escaped into the night.

* * *

 

Brienne checked her phone when she got back home. It was 3:30am. Hopefully, Jaime would still be asleep. Exhausted, she marched straight up to her bed, not even bothering to change out of her clothes. It was partly for expediency, but partly because she liked the familiar smell of him that still lingered on her dress.

As she closed her eyes, she was determined not to think of him, but thoughts of what they had done had bombarded her senses. The way he had smelt, the expression on his face when he was aroused, the way Jaime’s lips had felt upon her skin…

“Oh, wench, you are more beautiful without your clothes on than I could have ever imagined…”

BANG.

Brienne sat bolt upright. She looked at the clock next to her bed – it was 4:05am.

_What the fuck was that?_

Brienne leapt out of bed and crossed the room, ripping open the curtains. She was glad her flat was on the first floor, because the vantage gave her a view of the village. In the distance she could see a bright ball of orange light illuminating the valley, with a plume of smoke beginning to reach into the sky.

 _Oh my god,_ thought Brienne, _Storm’s End is on fire._

She was hunting round for her uniform before she had time to think.

* * *

 

When Brienne arrived at the scene, most of the team were already there. The Hound and Joff were pacing the grounds, while Tywin was standing with Doctor Qyburn, explaining something to the Robbs, and pointing at the blackened hole where Stannis’ house used to be. As neither Margaery nor Jaime had arrived, Brienne attached herself to Ilyn.

“What’s happened?” she asked him, before remembering he had no tongue.

However, Ilyn tried to answer her, as he made a BOOM sign with his fingers, accompanied by a “pwaaccchhh” kind of sound. Margaery turned up next. She had changed out of the green cocktail dress and into her uniform, but she was still looking very drunk and disorderly.

“Brienne,” she said, grasping her friend’s arm. “What the fuck happened?”

Brienne repeated what Ilyn had told her, complete with a BOOM sign and a “pwaaccchhh” sound. Just as Margaery began trying to dissect what that could possibly mean, Brienne caught sight of Jaime marching up the road towards Storm’s End. Brienne blushed when she realised he was wearing the suit he had worn at the drinks reception, the same one she had ripped off him only hours before. Even from this distance, she could see there was a possessed look in his green eyes that was trained on her. Panic constricting her throat, Brienne did the only thing that would guarantee he would leave her alone. Abandoning Margaery half way through a story about spontaneous human combustion, Brienne began to walk briskly in the direction of Tywin. There was no way Jaime would start spilling his guts about their night of passion while standing next to his father.

Suddenly, Brienne realised that Jaime had anticipated what she was trying to do. From the corner of her eye, she could see he had dramatically picked up his pace, trying to head her off before she reached the Chief. Remembering how speedy he could be, given the time they had raced to catch Arya Stark, she abandoned her professional looking brisk walk and started tearing across the grounds as fast as her legs would carry her. If she doubled her speed, Jaime tripled his, and soon Brienne and Jaime were racing each other, trying to avoid or catch the other, depending on perspective.

To her immense relief, Jaime caught her just as she reached Tywin.

“Chief,” said Brienne, trying to catch her breath.

“Brienne,” gasped Jaime, “I…”

Tywin looked from Jaime to Brienne and back again as if they had both totally lost their minds.

“Sergeant Tarth, Jaime,” the Chief said, his tone measured. He turned to his son. “Why are you not in your uniform?”

Jaime unconsciously looked at Brienne (and she furiously pretended not to notice), before facing his father. “It was all a rush… I heard the bang and just came here as fast as I could.”

“Mmmm,” said Tywin, “well. You can probably go back home to bed.”

“Back home to bed?” said Brienne, confused, “but Storm’s End is gone. Surely the cause needs to be investigated. Someone needs to talk to witnesses, to Stannis and Melisandre.”

Doctor Qyburn spoke. “There’ll be no talking to them, I’m afraid Sergeant Tarth. They’re dead.”

Brienne blinked. She thought back to last night, when Stannis had been buoyed up on promises of a new Casterly, of new homes, of different designs, and Melisandre had been beaming with pride. A horrible fear grew in Brienne’s chest.

“Nasty way to go,” said Doctor Qyburn. “It seems Mr Baratheon and his lady love tried to have a little fry up and left the gas on. They say you shouldn’t eat late at night.”

“I don’t know,” said Jaime, a grin rising across his face. “I like a little midnight gobble myself.” He shot a look at Brienne, raising his eyebrows at her, and she had to resist the urge to strangle him with her bare hands. This was not the time for stupid jokes, especially if they were in such bad taste and happened to reference what had happened between them only hours before.

Ignoring him, she turned to Tywin. “Chief, I think there’s something fishy about this. Margaery and I were here two weeks ago; this house has every mod-con, every special feature. It was a new build. A gas explosion? A gas leak? Melisandre and Stannis being so drunk they didn’t know they left the gas on? None of it makes any sense.” Although Brienne had been distracted by Jaime the night before, she remembered Stannis and Melisandre at the taxi rank – they hadn’t seemed drunk.

She suddenly realised that Stannis and Melisandre hadn’t been the only ones living in Storm’s End. “What about Tommen and Myrcella? Where are they?”

“They stayed the night at Casterly Rock with Cersei and I,” said Tywin gently, “that’s why they weren’t at the party. They are still there now.”

At least there was that.

“Sir…” she said. “I think the Robbs need to investigate this. Something is not right.”

Tywin fixed her with a ferocious gaze. “Everything that needs to be done with be done, Sergeant Tarth. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure of it.”

* * *

 

Tywin instructed Jaime to go and take pictures of the scene, which he moaned about. However, secretly, Brienne was happy. It meant Jaime was far away from her and she didn’t have to face him. She went to talk to the Robbs.

“So, what do you think Brian?” said Robb Arryn, “foul play again?”

Brienne tried not to let him rile her. “Perhaps,” she said seriously, “Melisandre and Stannis were not drunk last night. This all seems suspicious. _Baratheon Properties_ must have had clients – why not go and interview them?”

Robb Stark rolled his eyes. “Stannis Baratheon had thousands of clients. He was going to build two thousand new homes. You want us to go through the whole phone book?”

“Yeah,” chimed in Other Robb, “shall we put a call through to Aemma A. Arryn?”

Brienne almost shouted at them. “If you want to be proper detectives, _go and investigate_.”

With that, she left the scene and headed back to the station. The Chief had decided that they should all go home, but she wasn’t having any of it. There was something wrong with all of this. Once she was sat down at her desk, she got her notepad out and wrote a list:

_Melisandre Asshai_

_Renly Baratheon_

_Robert Baratheon_

_Stannis Baratheon_

_Lommy Greenhands_

_Eddard “Ned” Stark_

_Loras Tyrell_

These were all the people who had either mysteriously died or disappeared in Casterly in the last year. The first to die had been Robert Baratheon, found with his throat slit on his bathroom floor. Brienne went to order his death certificate, determined to see whether the popularly recognised cause of death – “slit his own throat while shaving” – was the one that had been officially recorded. Trying to find out all she could about him, she stumbled across a number of articles in the local paper written by Beric Dondarrion, detailing his business with Stannis, _Baratheon Properties_ , and the Casterly Project. She printed several of them off to read, but found them somewhat difficult, as Beric’s work was riddled with spelling mistakes.

Then there was Ned Stark. All she knew was that he had supposedly gotten obsessed with finding Robert’s killer, and had started seeing ghosts and shadows. She thought it might be best to talk to whichever officer had previously been his partner, so she checked it on the system. Her heart sank.

_PC Jaime Lannister_

She pushed Ned to the side for a moment. After Ned’s disappearance, there had been a gap of nearly nine months, before Loras and Renly had rolled off the road. Renly was Robert’s younger brother, although there was an age gap of fifteen years between them. He hadn’t been involved in _Baratheon Properties_ , but had set up his own hotel – _The White Stag_ – with family money. Loras had been his boyfriend, and was a social worker at Casterly Council, primarily involved with cases of divorce. Alongside finding all she could about them on the internet, she ordered their death certificates, and reprinted all the photos of the scene of their collision.

Lommy Greenhands had disappeared the day before Renly and Loras’ funeral. He lived at a children’s home, and spent his time dealing weed and shoplifting in the local area. She dug out the statements she had got from Arya and Gendry on their last citing of him at _Lannisters_ , as well as the notes she had taken from the checkout girls at the supermarket and the carers at the home. Details about his disappearance were a fragmentary mess, so she put him on the pile with Ned.

Last but not least, there was Stannis and Melisandre. Stannis had taken over the running of _Baratheon Properties_ since Robert’s death, and turbo charged the Casterly Project. In that same gap of time, he had taken his niece and nephew under his wing and moved his wife out, and his girlfriend in. Looking Melisandre up on the internet, Brienne discovered that she had been some sort of New Age Yoga Teacher, before her business had collapsed and she had been forced to take a job with Stannis. Once she was his secretary, they had started an affair.

There were connections between all of them. Robert, Renly, and Stannis were brothers. Robert, Stannis, and Melisandre all worked at _Baratheon Properties_. Robert and Ned had been childhood best friends. Renly and Loras had been dating. Stannis and Melisandre were a couple. Loras was a social worker, and Lommy a foster kid. There were webs of connections that tied them together, but there was not one sure fast line that drew together all seven.

Brienne found an old abandoned pin board in the back of the reception and began to put what she had found in a neat map connecting photos, articles, and certificates. Working hard next to her desk, she didn’t realise how long she had been engrossed in the mystery until her colleagues entered the office.

 _Shit,_ Brienne thought. _It’s Monday morning._

Trying to ignore the look of shock on her colleagues’ faces at the fact she was there, she carried on searching and printing and pinning. Brienne sensed Jaime entering the staff room before she saw him and made sure she turned her back. He went over to Ilyn first, handing him the card from the camera that contained photos of the ruin of Storm’s End with instructions that he needed them uploaded onto the system before he could start a proper report. The Jaime she had first met would have laughed and told her not to bother. Brienne was relieved to notice that he didn’t look at her before he left the staff room once more.

Once Ilyn had uploaded them, Brienne quickly accessed Jaime’s photos of the scene, and printed them to put on her pinboard. On the way back from the printer, however, she unfortunately nearly crashed into him, as he had just put a cup of coffee and a muffin down on her desk next to her work. She felt herself flush.

“I brought them in case you were hungry,” Jaime said. “You’ve been here all day and night; you must be exhausted… especially… considering what happened between us.”

She looked up at him, suddenly angry. “Two people have been killed, Jaime. This is really not the time.”

He sighed. “Look, if you don’t want to talk now that’s fine, but I’m _worried_ , Brienne. You must have had about an hour’s sleep in the last forty eight hours. Go home, get some rest. You can work tomorrow. We can _talk_ tomorrow.”

She hated all this faux sympathy from him. She was used to caustic Jaime, acerbic Jaime, absurdist Jaime, grumpy Jaime, selfish Jaime, mocking Jaime, whimsical Jaime, and grating Jaime. Brienne knew all his faces, and _Concerned_ Jaime was not one of them.

“Just leave me alone,” she said sharply, “I’ve got work to do.” He did what she said, but came back five minutes later with Tywin, who repeated Jaime’s words, but this time _ordered_ her to go home and get some rest.

“You are taking the day off, Sergeant Tarth,” said Tywin, “but I expect to see you here bright and early in the morning.”

“Yes sir,” she said, picking up the pinboard. “I won’t let you down.”

Even though Jaime was smiling with relief, Brienne only scowled at him, before marching out the staff room and heading home.

* * *

 

Armed with her pinboard, she got back to her flat at 9am, and literally fell on her bed with exhaustion. When she woke up, it was late afternoon, so Brienne decided it was probably best to get up, so she didn’t throw her entire sleeping pattern out. After having a shower and eating a bowl of cereal, she checked her phone, finding she had a message from Margaery.

 _Margaery:_            Are you coming to Syrio’s class tonight?

 _Brienne:_               Yep, do you mind picking me up?

She really felt like she needed to work off some of her excess tension and doing some stupid dance moves would once again put her at ease with her own body. Every part of her had felt so strange, alien, and downright sore since she had been with Jaime. Brienne wanted to dance and sweat him out of her system.

However, it was not to be, as it seemed clear that Syrio was taking the piss that evening with his choice of songs. They began by doing their warm up stretch to Marvin Gaye’s _Let’s Get it On_ , and Brienne’s brain treated her to the lovely image of Jaime spread out underneath her, groaning with desire. Shae then requested they repeat a dance they had done the week previously to Madonna’s _Like a Virgin_ , and she was reminded of her own nervousness as Jaime had touched her between her thighs. Later, they did an extended squat workout to Boyz II Men’s _I’ll Make Love to You_. “This is fucking ridiculous,” Brienne muttered, as an aroused Jaime once more appeared in her mind, this time begging to be kissed.

Brienne nearly walked out the damn class when Syrio put on Serge Gainsbourg’s _Je t’aime_ as their cool down, and suddenly she and Jaime were at it again, although this time they were wearing berets.

Because she was still rather irritated at the end of the class, Brienne jumped at the only chance of true relaxation she was going to get that evening: alcohol. “Shall we go to _The Inn_?” suggested Shae, “Tyrion is watching the University Challenge final tonight, and I don’t want to disturb him.”

Margaery, Sansa, and Brienne agreed, and soon they were racing over to _The Inn at the Crossroads_ in Margaery’s Mini Cooper. Brienne was looking forward to a gin and tonic or two – or seven – so she was mightily disappointed when she walked through the doors of the pub and saw who was sitting at the bar: Jaime and Cersei.

“Right, it was lovely to see you all,” began Brienne, turning to her friends, “but I think I’m probably going to go…”

Cersei wasn’t having any of that. “Sergeant Tarth!” she called, “come over here. I wish to speak with you.”

Brienne tried to ignore her, but she shouted louder. “Oi! PC Plod. Are you deaf?”

Reluctantly, Brienne left Margaery, Sansa, and Shae and walked across the room to the evil bitch from hell and her hot twin brother.

Cersei didn’t give Brienne a moment before she let her intentions be known. “Is it true that Stannis and his whore are dead?”

Brienne bristled. She didn’t like it when people spoke disrespectfully of the dead. “I assume you mean Stannis Baratheon and Melisandre Asshai?”

“Yes,” said Cersei sweetly, “Stannis and his whore.”

“That’s police business,” growled Brienne. “Confidential information that I can’t share.”

Cersei rolled her eyes. “BORING. That’s exactly what Jaime said as well.”

Brienne suddenly found herself looking at Jaime, and he smiled at her gently. Momentarily distracted by his beauty, Brienne almost missed it when Cersei said “I hope they are. The world would be better off without them.”

At that, Brienne snapped her head back and looked at Cersei, as if for the first time. Did Cersei’s outer blonde loveliness hide something sinister? Brienne thought back to all the times that Cersei had badmouthed Stannis and Melisandre because they had custody of Tommen and Myrcella. Casting her mind back to the night of _Romeo and Juliet_ , Brienne even seemed to recall that Cersei had spat venom at Renly and Loras, accusing them of being part of some conspiracy to keep her separated from her children. On one of Brienne’s first evenings in Casterly, at the NWA Party, Cersei had claimed she had loved her husband Robert, but rumours in the town seemed to point to the relationship actually being quite acrimonious. While Brienne could think of nothing to connect her to Ned or Lommy at the moment, but it didn’t stop Brienne’s heart hammering and her stomach churning.

_Is Cersei Lannister a murderer?_

“Excuse me,” stammered Brienne, wanting to get as far away from her as possible. “I just need to go powder my nose.”

She ran off to the ladies, where she splashed her face with water and tried to calm her breathing.

 _You don’t know anything yet,_ she told herself. _You must look at this rationally, without letting your personal dislike for the woman cloud your judgement._

No longer wanting to drink and relax, Brienne prepared to leave the pub. She decided she would go back home, look at her pinboard, and try and work out what the hell was going on. However, her plan was very quickly foiled when Jaime cornered her as she came out of the ladies.

“Brienne, can we talk?”

“Do we have to?” she sighed, “we’ll see each other tomorrow.”

He looked a little sad. “You’ll have to speak to me eventually.” The aching tone in his voice made her realise she had to pull the plaster off.

“I’m not quite sure what we need to talk about, really.”

He scoffed. “ _Really_? You can’t think of _anything_ that’s happened between us that might be worth having a chat about?”

Brienne could feel herself going redder and redder by the moment, so she folded her arms across her chest in a form of defence. She found she couldn’t look him in the eye. “I think we should just forget about it.”

His face fell. “… Forget about it? But… didn’t you enjoy it?”

Brienne tried not to think about how she had been reduced to a quivering, stammering wreck in his arms. “Yes, but it wasn’t a serious thing was it? We were drunk.”

“Not _that_ drunk,” he said, stepping forward, putting his hand on her elbow in a way that reminded her of the time he had joked and called her beautiful at Margaery’s party. “I knew what I wanted, Brienne. I wanted _you_.”

 _I_ wanted _you_ , she thought. _Not I_ want _you_.

“Jaime,” she said, pulling away from him. “It’s all very nice that you are trying to let me down gently here, but I don’t need that. It didn’t mean anything, so we can both just move on.”

“Move on?” he groaned, “as if it’s so easy?”

At that moment, Cersei called her twin over. “Jaime! Come buy me a drink!”

Jaime turned his head towards the source of the sound, his murderer of a twin sister. As a highly trained police officer who knew when to seize an opportunity, Brienne used Jaime’s momentary distraction to slip past him and escape the pub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I feel like I've led you all on because "The Bang that was Promised" was totally Stannis' house blowing up, but there you go!
> 
> I'm sure everyone is going to be a tiny bit outraged at Brienne peaceing out in the middle of the night, but I wanted to get my revenge on Show Jaime for him leaving Brienne standing in the snow in her dressing gown in 8x04. As I cannot get hold of Show Jaime, I am going to spend a considerable amount of time from now on emotionally torturing my sweet little lovestruck Jaime. I hope you enjoy :D
> 
> Once again, please leave comments and kudos - I LOVE THEM.
> 
> Next chapter... Brienne and Margaery have a heart to heart about Brienne's love life...


	17. Splat-a-Rat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaery and Brienne have a chat, and it is Casterly's Summer Fete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UUrgrggrghhh I'm sorry this is late. We've been in the middle of a heat wave here and it's been sooooo hard to concentrate. I hope you enjoy this chapter though. As always, I am blown away by the comments and kudos - please keep them coming! I love all the life advice you are all giving Jaime and Brienne!!!
> 
> For this one, please be aware of the Archive Warnings.

The next morning, Brienne found an unexpected guest in her front garden. Curled up in the corner, covered in ash, was a tiny black cat.

“Shadow?” said Brienne in surprise. The cat who had tried to murder Margaery looked a little worse for wear; she had lost her collar, and she had a small cut on her paw, but other than that, she looked right as rain. Brienne stretched her arms towards her and made coaxing noises and, to her surprise, Shadow came close, and started rubbing herself against Brienne’s arm. Suddenly realising the little cat was now homeless, Brienne took her back into her flat and got her some water. She also found a tin of tuna; which Shadow ate quickly. After calling the vet’s and arranging an appointment later in the week, Brienne set up a little bed for the cat in the lounge, which Shadow gratefully accepted, although not before rubbing herself again Brienne’s ankles affectionately.

 _What a schizophrenic kitty,_ thought Brienne.

From that moment on, not only did Brienne have a good job, a nice flat, a group of friends, and a sort of romantic life in Casterly, she also had a pet cat.

* * *

 

When Brienne arrived at the station on Tuesday morning, the Hound caught her.

“Apparently the Chief wants to speak to us.”

“What about?”

“I don’t know, he said to meet us in his office in five.”

Brienne went to make herself a cup of coffee before going up, slightly weirded out by the fact the staff room seemed strangely deserted. Once she got up to Tywin’s office, she realised why. Besides Tywin, the whole team were congregated in the small room: the two Robbs, Jon, the Hound, Joff, Margaery, Ilyn, and Jaime.

“Ah, Sergeant Tarth,” said Tywin, “just in time.”

“Good morning, sir,” she said taking a sip of coffee. “What’s this meeting about?”

Tywin sat at his desk. “Two issues. Firstly, it has come to my attention that it might be prudent to shake up the patrol rotas. They are getting a little… staid.”

Without meaning to, Brienne’s eyes drifted to Jaime, who was standing by his father’s desk, his arms folded across his chest. He was resolutely not looking at her.

 _This is his doing,_ she thought. _He regrets what we did and is now trying to extricate himself from me_.

It was worse than it had been with Renly. At least then, Renly had assured her that a silly crush would never get between them. Jaime didn’t even want to be her friend anymore.

_It’s my own fault, I should never have agreed to sleep with him in the first place. I should have known… I should…_

“Sergeant Tarth, you will now be permanently paired with PC Tyrrell, Jaime with Sergeant Clegane. I’ll email you all the full details.” Brienne went to raise an objection but, clocking the disinterest on Jaime’s face, she realised it would be futile.

“The second issue,” continued Tywin, “is that today is St Alysanne Parish Church’s summer fete. They’ve been working hard over the last couple of months to raise money to fix the roof and spire and, as one of Casterly’s most important social events, it needs significant security. I expect everyone on patrol there – we’ll leave Jon to hold down the fort here.”

“Significant security?” said Brienne, surprised. “Surely it’s only a summer fete. Do we need to divert that many officers?”

Tywin looked at her with cold eyes. “Are you questioning my judgement, Sergeant Tarth?”

“No! Of course not!” she said, suddenly realising how rude she was sounding. “Perhaps I’m not used to what events need security in Casterly. I’m more familiar with the Notting Hill Carnival.”

“Good, I’m glad to see there are no objections,” said Tywin, turning back to the rest of the officers. “The fete starts at one o’clock, but there will be significant set up beforehand, so it would be good if everyone could be there as soon as possible. Reverend Sparrow will be quite anxious that the whole thing runs smoothly.”

After a round of “yes sirs”, Tywin dismissed them from his presence, choosing to sit at his desk and fire up his computer. As the officers processed out of the office in single file, Brienne found herself behind Jaime. She felt compelled to say something; to reach out and grab one of his broad shoulders, or to put a hand on his waist and pull him to one side. She made her move once they had passed through the door. Catching his arm, she noticed he gave a sudden intake of breath, before she gently pushed him where she wanted him to be, so his back was leaning against the office wall, his green eyes fixed on her.

“What are you doing?” she said, fixing him with a look that told him she knew the rearranged patrol rotas were all decided under his influence. She didn’t know what she expected, but it was not for him to shake her hand away. His gaze was somewhat unfriendly.

“What you told me to do. Moving on.”

* * *

 

As it turned out, it wasn’t a great day for a fete. It was an English summer day, so, just as the stall holders began to unpack, the heavens opened, and it tipped it down. Brienne and Margaery went and hid in the car for a while until it cleared up, parked in a decent spot opposite the church. From this position, they could see the whole churchyard and church, all the way up to the crumbling spire. Being on patrol with Margaery was different than being with Jaime. Their topics of conversation tended towards the personal, whereas with Jaime, Brienne was much more likely to spend her afternoon discussing which ten thousand people on the planet should be sent to Mars to restart civilisation if the apocalypse happened. In contrast, Margaery was happy bitching about her most recent awful Tinder date.

“His name was Thoros,” said Margaery, already giggling. “and he had the world’s most stupid top knot.”

“Why did you agree to go out with him, then?” asked Brienne, a little confused. If there was one thing she knew about Tinder, it was that looks were paramount.

Margaery gave a cheeky grin. “Well, in his bio he stated he could give orgasms that could wake the dead. I wanted to see if it was true.”

“Was it?”

“We didn’t get that far. It turned out he was part of some religious cult and wanted me to follow the Lord of Light. I pretended I needed the loo and then climbed out the bathroom window.”

The two women were still laughing about that when Brienne noticed a man out of the corner of her eye walking down the street. Margaery had clearly spotted him too, as she leant across to roll the window down. “Bronn! What are you doing here? I didn’t think church summer fetes were really your bag?”

Moving towards the car, he leant on the window frame, and up close, Brienne realised she recognised him from the performance of _Romeo and Juliet_. “They’re not,” he said dismissively, in his broad Northern accent. “I’m just going to _Lannisters_ to get something in for dinner.” For the first time, he looked at Brienne. “Are you going to introduce us?”

“Oh, yes!” said Margaery. “Bronn, this is Sergeant Brienne Tarth of the Casterly Constabulary. Brienne, this is Bronn Blackwater of ill repute.”

He gave Margaery a wicked grin at that, before turning back to Brienne. “Nice to meet you at last, Sergeant Tarth. I’ve heard all about you. Although, I have to be honest, I thought you’d be taller. From the way Jaime’s been going on about you, I was imagining you to be ten foot two.”

Brienne felt herself blush. She’d heard Jaime talk about Bronn before – they were childhood friends – but she didn’t realise that he had spoken to him about her.

“How is Jaime, by the way?” grinned Bronn in a way that Brienne didn’t like. “Have you seen him recently?”

“He’s fine,” said Brienne, the heat rising in her cheeks. “I saw him at the pub last night with his sister. He seemed fine.”

“Good. Because he’s seemed a little _tetchy and irritated_ the last couple of weeks, if you ask me. Nothing a good shag won’t sort out I’m sure.”

That made Brienne go from red to maroon.

“Alright Bronn,” said Margaery, quickly, leaning across the car once again to wheel up the window and shut him out. “See you later, yeah?”

Bronn was chuckling now, “see you later Margaery, and you Sergeant Tarth.”

Margaery and Brienne sat in complete silence as they watched Bronn walk down the road. He kept turning round, giving them jaunty little waves, and it was only when Margaery gave him the two fingered salute did he burst into laughter and finish his journey, disappearing into the _Lannisters_ store on the corner.

Once he was gone, Margaery turned to Brienne. She was clearly thinking about the best thing to say, and she eventually went with: “it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, you know. He likes you. You like him. Sometimes it can be a little awkward the first time, but it doesn’t mean it won’t get better…”

“It wasn’t a _little awkward_ ,” said Brienne, suddenly defensive of what she and Jaime had done. “It was… really good.”

Margaery grinned like the cat who had got the cream. “More than just a few of half-hearted thrusts and a couple of kisses, then?”

Brienne’s mind was cast back to the moment when Jaime had been beneath her, his face buried between her thighs. Although she had been totally lost in pleasure, Brienne had just about managed to moan that he needed to stop, because she was too close to the edge. That had only motivated him to attack the most sensitive parts of her body even more forcefully, until she had come apart on top of him with a whine that was close to a sob. The thought of Jaime’s self-satisfied smile as he had pulled a quivering Brienne off him in order to lay her down and penetrate her was almost enough to distract Brienne from the bigger mystery raised by Margaery’s line of questioning. Well… almost.

Brienne furrowed her brow. “Hey, how do you know that Jaime and I slept together? Did he tell you?”

Margaery went a little red. “No… we guessed.”

“We?” asked Brienne. “What do you mean by _we_?”

Margaery suddenly looked a little fearful. “I mean… I guessed.”

“Margaery…” said Brienne warningly. “What do you mean by _we_?”

Margaery clearly couldn’t stand the intensity of Brienne’s glare for long, as eventually, she broke. “Oh, alright! But if I tell you, just promise not to get upset, okay? This is really nothing to get upset about.”

Brienne didn’t say anything; she wasn’t about to make promises she couldn’t keep.

Margaery reached for her handbag and pulled out her phone, unlocking it with deft fingers. “Jaime wanted a little bit of help organising your meet up the other week – you know, song choices, recipes, that sort of thing – so Tyrion set up a group chat to spit ball some ideas. We’ve sort of being discussing what’s going on between you and Jaime since then.”

Brienne’s stomach started to churn. She had been so certain that this weird thing flowering between her and Jaime was a secret only the two of them shared. Now, it felt as if she was being stared at like some freak in a circus, and he was the ringmaster, displaying her in a cage.

“Show me,” said Brienne heavily, and Margaery immediately complied, handing her the phone with _WhatsApp_ open. Brienne’s heart hammered in her chest as she scrolled through the messages.

**Operation Get Jaime and Brienne Laid Group Chat**

**Participants:** Tyrion Lannister (Administrator), Jaime Lannister, Margaery Tyrrell, Sansa Stark, Shae Smith, Bronn Blackwater.

 _Margaery:_            So, does anyone know why Brienne has been acting like a total lunatic since the drinks reception?

 _Margaery:_            And by *anyone* I mean *cough*Jaime*cough*

 _Sansa:_                 Jaime?

 _Shae:_                  Heeelllooooo.

 _Tyrion:_                J. Lann?

 _Bronn:_                Oi Jaime? Where are you?

 _Jaime:_                 Here.

 _Margaery:_           WTF is wrong with Brienne?

 _Tyrion:_               Are you going to tell us about Brienne?

 _Bronn:_                What’s going on with Brian?

 _Bronn:_                *Brienne

Sansa:               TELL US ABOUT BRIENNE

 _Shae:_                  Pllllllzzzzzzzzz.

 _Jaime:_                 I think she might be freaking out a bit.

 _Margaery:_          Why would she be freaking out a bit?

 _Tyrion:_              THE PUBLIC DEMAND THE TRUTH.

There had been a several hours pause between Tyrion’s message and the one that followed.

 _Jaime:_                I don’t really want to kiss and tell.

That was the last message – it had been sent 2 minutes ago.

 _Fuck him,_ thought Brienne, her anger rising, _he’s been talking about me and what we did behind my back._

It was as if the Group Chat was some kind of omniscient hive mind, as at that moment, even as Brienne stared at the screen, the other participants of the group started joining in, suddenly putting their own spin on what had happened between herself and Jaime.

 _Bronn:_               YOU FOOKED

 _Sansa:_                Where the hell is the party popper emoji?

 _Shae:_                 YAAAAASSSS. Tyrion, you owe me ten quid.

Brienne’s stomach fell even further: they’d been talking about her and betting on when she was going to get fucked. She was suddenly back at a school dance, a rose at her feet, with people she thought were her friends laughing and jeering and making money out of her humiliation.

 _Tyrion:_              Right, I need to change the group name now in light of this new information.

**NAME CHANGED by Tyrion Lannister:**

**Operation Get Jaime and Brienne Laid AGAIN Group Chat**

**Participants:** Tyrion Lannister (Administrator), Jaime Lannister, Margaery Tyrrell, Sansa Stark, Shae Smith, Bronn Blackwater.

 _Jaime:_             No, I don’t like that. Can we change it to “Operation Get Jaime and Brienne into a loving and committed long term relationship” please?

Brienne nearly dropped Margaery’s damn phone at that comment.

 _Sansa:_               Awwww <3 <3 <3

 _Bronn:_               Mate, I’m being sick in a bucket over here.

**NAME CHANGED by Tyrion Lannister:**

**Operation Get Jaime and Brienne into a Loving and Committed Long Term Relationship Group Chat**

**Participants:** Tyrion Lannister (Administrator), Jaime Lannister, Margaery Tyrrell, Sansa Stark, Shae Smith, Bronn Blackwater.

 _He’s being sarcastic,_ she told herself, _and it doesn’t convey very well in written form. This is the same man who has been telling everyone about what we did, and probably betting on it with Tyrion too._

At that moment, Margaery leant over Brienne’s shoulder and looked at the screen. Noticing the name change, Margaery’s face lit up. “See,” she said emphatically, “it was not just a one night thing for him. He really cares.”

Brienne shoved the phone back towards Margaery. It just wasn’t possible for this to be true. Connington had got two hundred people laughing at her because she was naïve enough to believe that a guy like him could love an ugly girl like her, and Hyle had always made sure she was aware that she wasn’t even worth a cuddle after the deed was done. The two probabilities were that Jaime genuinely wanted to be with her or that Jaime was playing some incredible joke on her for his own amusement, and Brienne knew which one she thought was more likely given the evidence.

“No, he doesn’t,” snapped Brienne. “He seems more concerned with laughing at me on _WhatsApp_.”

Her mind was flooded with memories of when she discovered Connington had messaged the whole school a picture of her lying naked on his bed, as proof he had won the bet. He had lifted the West Ham duvet to get a whole body shot of her, and suddenly there had been hundreds of pixelated copies of her naked sleeping form, shared between Nokia 360s and Motorola Razors, everywhere she looked.

“He’s not laughing, babe,” said Margaery gently, “he’s…”

“He _is_ laughing,” Brienne insisted, unplugging her seat belt, “and so are you. If you are my friend, I would appreciate it if you could stop gossiping about when I’m next going to get fucked on _WhatsApp_.”

“Brienne…” groaned Margaery, “where are you going?”

“I need a walk. I’ll see you later.”

* * *

 

Brienne found she couldn’t stop walking. She walked round and round the church boundary, trying to shake off this foul mood. Even though she had not been in Casterly overlong, she knew the legends. If you ran around St Alysanne’s three times during the witching hour, Bloody Mary would appear. Brienne thought the sight of the ghost of a long-dead Tudor monarch who had a habit of burning Protestants would be a lot less terrifying than the prospect of what Jaime had suggested on _WhatsApp_ coming to pass.

_Jaime and Brienne in a loving and committed long term relationship._

At one o’clock, Brienne did not bother going to find Margaery, but began her patrol of the fete on her own. She walked up and down between the stalls and games, trying to keep her eye open for anything suspicious. Alongside the usual run of skittles and croquet, she also saw a giant “Splat-the-Rat” game, which Tywin was bossing. Jorah Mormont was trying to guess the weight of a marrow for the chance to win a car, while the Hound was walking around with Joff eating candyfloss, his face painted like Spiderman.

The one stall Brienne was most excited about, however, was a huge marquee framed with a sign labelled _Samwell Tarly’s Map Room_. He was selling lots of maps he had made from hand; highly accurate satellite paintings of the world, pre-Cook, pre-Columbus, and medieval style maps, and even of land masses from various fantasy novels – Tolkein’s Middle Earth, Lewis’ Narnia, Jordan’s Randland, and Rothfuss’ Temerant. Brienne would have been tempted to have a closer look, if she had not spotted Cersei standing inside.

Dressed as if Versace had paid her to run a marathon, for once Cersei was not wearing six inch heels, but comfortable trainers. She had chosen the most beautiful red tracksuit, which clung to her body in all the right places, and she had her tresses of blond hair tied up in a ponytail. As usual, she had a foul expression on her face, and was having what looked like a rather intense discussion with Beric Dondarrion, the reporter who had called Brienne “Brian”. Brienne made a note to come back later, so she could have an uninterrupted perusal of Samwell’s collection.

Eventually, after circling the fete several times, Brienne stopped at the shooting range, which was being staffed by Petyr Baelish.

“A pound for twenty bullets,” he said. “Shoot any of the little men you get a lollypop. Shoot all twenty and you get a prize.”

Brienne suddenly felt like she really wanted to shoot some shit. She’d had some gun training in London and had even once had to use a gun against an offender with a Kalashnikov. Although she did not believe the police service needed guns for the most part, in extraordinary circumstances they were useful, and, if the occasion was right, there was something mildly thrilling about holding one.

“Alright,” said Brienne. “Here’s your pound.”

She watched as Petyr loaded the little bullets into the gun and passed it to her. “You just need to pull the trigger…”

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Brienne impatiently, “pull the trigger, shoot the little men. Got it.”

With twenty expertly placed shots, Brienne had knocked down all twenty little men. She gave a self-satisfied smirk.

“What’s my prize, Mr Baelish?” she grinned.

“A cuddly Pikachu,” he said, pointing up at a faded yellow Pokemon pinned to the wall. “Do you want it now? Or do you want to come back for it?”

“I’ll come back,” she replied, picking up a _Chupa Chups_ from the pot on the counter. She unwrapped it and put in her mouth, and had just started swirling it around on her tongue when she turned round to find Jaime standing behind her.

_Jaime and Brienne in a loving and committed long term relationship._

His green eyes were wide but, on noticing she was now looking at him, he tripped slightly in his effort to lean nonchalantly again the hotdog stand behind him. The sight of him annoyed her. Why was he absolutely everywhere if he so desperately wanted to “move on”?

“Why are you here?” she asked, stiffly.

“Just queuing for the shooting range,” he said casually. “I wanted to see if I could match your score.”

“Good luck with that,” Brienne scoffed, stepping aside to give him room to try. Petyr Baelish handed Jaime the gun and bullets, and Jaime nervously took his place in front of the target, all the while shooting looks at Brienne. She knew he had been some kind of upcoming star in the Greater Manchester Police, so wasn’t surprised when he downed nineteen of the little men with relative ease.

She wasn’t going to let him win. Leaning forward, she fixed him with the kind of expression he used to give her in the early days when he wanted to rile her up. “Only one more, PC Lannister. Can you manage it?”

For a moment, he took his eyes off the prize in order to look at her and consequently missed.

She let out a laugh as he flushed red. “No, it seems not,” suddenly satisfied she had one over him. “No Pikachu for you.”

With that, she gave him a smug smile, and went back to look at Samwell Tarly’s maps.

* * *

 

By quarter to three, Brienne was getting a little bored. She tried out most of the games, eaten two hotdogs, a big cloud of candyfloss, and downed a massive bottle of Diet Coke. Thankfully, the weather had somewhat improved, so now it was only grey rather than pouring with rain. She had gone to find Margaery, only to find her in rather an intense conversation with Robb Stark, squeezing his bicep and suggesting that she could beat him at the strength test. Brienne left them alone.

After all the food and drink, Brienne suddenly needed a piss, she went in search of a grotty looking Portaloo that had been set up behind the vestry, hidden round a corner. As there wasn’t a hand dryer, she left the loo desperately trying to wipe her hands on her uniform. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a familiar man with an eye patch almost ran into her.

“Sergeant Tarth,” said Beric, his voice a little panicked, “I need to speak with you.”

“What about?” she asked, shaking her wet hands.

“Stannis Baratheon.” Brienne’s ears pricked up. Would this be the decisive clue she needed to crack the case?

“Stannis?” said Brienne breathlessly, “what do you know?”

“Not now,” he said, shooting a look over his shoulder. “Meet me back here at three o’clock. They’ll be drawing the raffle then. Everyone will be distracted.”

“Of course,” said Brienne, her heart hammering, but he didn’t hear her as he had already dashed off. What did Beric know about Stannis? Beric was the town’s local news reporter; if anyone knew anything about what was really going on in Casterly, it was him. But she also knew he wasn’t the best – his work was littered with spelling mistakes; he’d accidentally called her “Brian” – and he didn’t seem to realise that investigative journalism had its limits. He had been on the grounds of Casterly Rock on the night of the NWA party, after all, and Tywin had considered it trespassing.

Brienne was so distracted by a cloud of confusion and questions that she didn’t notice she had idly dawdled back into the centre of the fete. She looked up at the church clock: it was 2.55pm. _Crap._ Turning around, she went to make her way to the Portaloos, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Reverend Sparrow.

“Sergeant Tarth,” he smiled, “just the woman I was looking for. As you are Casterly’s latest addition to the Police Force, I wondered whether you would do us the honour of drawing the raffle?”

“Police _Service_ ,” she corrected, almost out of habit. “And I’m not sure…”

“Please,” said the Reverend gently. “It will only take two minutes. We would all be so honoured.” The warmth in his voice had her nodding along.

“Alright,” she said, “but as long as it is quick. There is somewhere I need to be.”

She let the Reverend lead her up onto the platform and stand her next to the huge colourful bucket that contained all the raffle tickets. Someone brought Reverend Sparrow a microphone and he was soon tapping it, muttering “testing, testing, one, two, three.” When it was clear he could be heard, he began. “Welcome everybody to the St Alysanne Parish Church summer fete. I am glad you are all still with us, even if the weather wasn’t on its best behaviour this morning.”

There was a polite titter from the crowd.

“We are now going to hold our annual raffle, which will help raise money for a very worthy cause. The hammerbeam roof that we have here at St Alysanne’s dates from the late fourteenth century, from the reign of Richard II. It is one of the best examples of this type of architecture in the country and, for this reason, it needs to be protected. All proceeds from today’s fete will therefore be going towards upkeep of this glorious monument.”

As he signalled back at the church, there was a smatter of applause. “We are also circulating a collection tin for a very worthwhile charity – _The Asses and Donkeys Trust_. All donations are heartily welcome.”

With that, the Reverend turned to Brienne. “I would like to welcome our new policewoman…”

“Police _officer_ ,” she muttered.

“… Sergeant Brienne Tarth, to draw the winning tickets. If you would be so kind, Sergeant Tarth.” The Reverend pushed the bucket towards her. “Our first prize is a set of rare antique hunting knives donated by Mr Varys of the NWA, thank you very much, Mr Varys.”

There was another round of applause as Brienne reached into the bucket and pulled out a ticket. “Pink 472,” she turned it over to read the name written on the back. “Cersei Lannister.”

Brienne looked up at the clock – 2.57pm – her heart beating nervously.

“Ms Lannister?” called Reverend Sparrow. “Is Ms Lannister here?”

“She’s in the loo!” came a voice.

“Alright, alright,” smiled the Reverend. “She’s drunk too much punch I’m sure. Sergeant Tarth, would you draw out second winner? The second prize is a trip to the Armoury Museum to be given a tour of the antique gun collection, donated by Tywin Lannister.”

Brienne didn’t even hear the clapping as she drew out the next ticket, desperate to get this done with. “Green 37”, she turned it over. “Beric Dondarrion.”

Brienne looked up at the clock – 2.59pm. She knew she couldn’t wait any longer.

“I’m sorry Reverend, someone else will have to draw the last ticket,” she said, before climbing down off the platform and beginning to jog round the church, back towards the Portaloos. To her immense relief, she found Beric already there. He was standing in the shadow of the church’s steeple, smiling when he saw her.

“Sergeant Tarth…” said Beric as she approached.

Then something out of a horror film happened.

A large chunk of masonry from the church roof plummeted out of the sky, landing directly on Beric. His head was instantly crushed like a watermelon, exploding in a firework of blood, brains, and viscera. As he fell to his knees, blood spurting like a fountain, Brienne realised she had been splattered in fluid, and she found herself retching. The crowd from the raffle, who had been somewhat perturbed by her disappearance, were suddenly behind her. There was a bustle of shock and horror that was only quieted when Tywin came to the foreground.

“Officers, hold everyone back there’s been a terrible accident.”

 _Accident?_ thought Brienne. _How could this be an accident? If Beric had been standing two feet to the left or had stayed in the Map Room with Cersei, he could have avoided being killed by a falling bit of masonry. This was deliberate, almost as if some evil puppeteer had written it to be engineered this way._

At the thought of Cersei, Brienne began scanning around the area, trying to spot her. Even though she had been wearing the world’s brightest red tracksuit, Brienne couldn’t see her anywhere. What Brienne did spot, however, chilled her to the bone. Slipping out of the fire exit at the distant side of the church, was a hooded figure draped in a black cloak. Brienne knew that door was closest to the set of stairs that led up to the roof.

“Oi!” shouted Brienne, “stop right there!”

Everyone else only looked at her confusedly as she dashed off. The hooded figure clocked her instantly and began to sprint towards the church gate with a speed Brienne found difficult to match. The gate had been locked by Reverend Sparrow, mainly to stop small children wandering out into traffic, so the figure gracefully vaulted over the wall. When Brienne managed to catch up, she copied somewhat clumsily.

Once they were both out in the street, there was a clearer path for Brienne to chase the figure, but she found him to be speedy and well prepared. He slipped round the back of _Lannisters_ , and then down the road towards the Park. Brienne kept the pace up, silently cursing the hotdogs, the candyfloss, and the Diet Coke. Soon, they were at the park gate, and, once he had disappeared inside, the hooded person sped into the most wooded area, knowing that staying hidden amongst the trees would be the best way to lose the tailing police officer. This surprised Brienne, as she had expected the hooded figure to go across the open ground of the park, which gave more room to pick up some speed. Suddenly forced to change direction, Brienne slipped on a hidden patch of mud that had been created by the earlier rainfall, and fell to the ground with a painful _thwack_ , her right wrist and her left ankle both exploding with pain simultaneously.

“Oh crap!” she said, grasping at her wrist. The pain was great enough to distract her from the person she was chasing for a few moments, so when she looked up, the hooded figure was gone. She tried to get to her feet but found it somewhat difficult with both her ankle and wrist throbbing with pain. Managing to get to her knees, she felt somewhat relieved when she felt a presence come charging into the park behind her.

It was Jaime.

“Brienne,” he said, spotting her predicament. “You’re hurt.”

Suddenly he was down on his knees beside her, his arm round her waist. “What’s the matter?”

“My wrist and my ankle,” she said weakly. “They hurt.”

“Come on then, wench,” he said, slinging her arm over his shoulder, while keeping his around her waist. “I’ll help you up, and then we can see what we can do about this.”

Putting all her weight on him, she let him lift her to her feet, enjoying the way his muscles tensed beneath his clothes in order to move her. Once he had pulled her up, he smiled at her. It was only then, when they were standing and her skin caught fire, did she realise she was flush against Jaime, their sides touching. The last time they had been this close they had both been naked, entangled with each other, his cock softening between them. Feeling the familiar pull of his body, and scared she might be overcome, Brienne pushed him away.

“I’m fine,” she said quietly, “it’s only a sprain.”

“It might be broken,” he said, taking her sore wrist with his good hand. “You might need a cast – at least then we’d match.” He held up his prosthetic, smiling at her.

Brienne suddenly felt very hot, especially when she realised he hadn’t let her go of her waist. Was this the sort of thing he classified as “moving on”? His nearness worrying her, she pulled herself away from him.

“No, Jaime!” she snapped, her anger towards him returning. “I’m fine. I don’t need you fussing over me. I don’t need _you_.”

She regretted it the instant she said it, especially when she saw how his face fell.

_Jaime and Brienne in a loving and committed long term relationship._

He stood still, staring at her with those big green eyes, holding the world in them. 

"Jaime, I…” she went to say.

“Fine,” he said forcefully, silencing her. “I’ll see you back at the church. I imagine this situation is going to require a lot of paperwork.”

She didn’t say anything else and let him walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo.... things are going down in Casterly. I hope you enjoyed that! Please leave comments and kudos - I LOVE IT (as usual).
> 
> And yes, there are references to both My Dad Wrote a Porno and the fact that if Show Jaime had been standing two feet to the left he could have survived the falling masonry and gone back to Brienne in this chapter. I am not ashamed :D
> 
> Next chapter... Brienne becomes determined to crack the case, as an unwelcome face appears in Casterly...


	18. The Fruits of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne begins to investigate the happenings in Casterly with an unlikely ally...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo! A new chapter! I hope you enjoy it! As ever, I lurve comments and kudos - they let me know how I am doing and keeps my writing on its toes!

After a month, Margaery finally snapped.

“We’ve been over this, babe. I know you think somebody pushed a piece of masonry off the top of St Alysanne’s and it hit Beric. We all know. It’s just that everybody else thinks it was an accident.”

Brienne felt like banging her head against a wall.

“How?” she said for what felt like the millionth time. Brienne and Margaery were sitting in the High Street in the car on patrol, whiling away the hours with talk of murder and conspiracy. “I literally chased a masked suspect from the scene.”

“A masked suspect that only _you saw_ ,” said Margaery patiently. “Neither the CCTV at St Alysanne’s or at _Lannisters_ picked him up.”

“Beric had wanted to talk to me about Stannis before he died. Why would he have wanted to do that unless he knew something about what caused his fate?”

Margaery sighed. “Beric was a local reporter, he was always thinking up conspiracies, whether they existed or not. A couple of years ago he was claiming Ned Stark had set up a vigilante squad to try and crack a smuggling ring at _Lannisters_. It was all a load of rubbish.”

“But…”

“Brienne, please,” snapped Margaery suddenly, her temper making her cheeks flush. “Can you stop this? If Beric was murdered as part of some big conspiracy…”

“He was,” interrupted Brienne.

“It follows that Stannis and Melisandre were also murdered, and Loras and Renly were as well. And I can’t bring myself to accept that,” said Margaery, her voice cracking. “Loras was such a good guy – kind, helpful, brave, wanted to do the best for the kids he worked with – that the thought someone killed him… it’s just too much.”

Brienne’s heart softened for her friend. “But wouldn’t you want to know the truth? If Loras really was murdered, wouldn’t you want to find the person who did it?”

Margaery let out a little huff, but Brienne could see that tears were pricking at her friend’s eyes. “If Beric, Stannis, Melisandre, Lommy, Renly, Loras, Ned, and Robert were all slaughtered like you say they were, it’s not just one person with a grudge. That’s a conspiracy of epic proportions, and it would shake the whole village to its very foundations.”

* * *

 

After that conversation, Brienne did not talk to Margaery about her suspicions any more. It left her with no one to talk to at all. The Chief wasn’t interested; he insisted the roof of the church was crumbling – it was a terrible accident. The Robbs just laughed at her. Even if Ilyn did believe her, she’d never know, so she didn’t even try there. Jon was too loved up. She got some way with the Hound, but after trying to explain to him how a traffic collision could be staged, he lost interest and started petting Joff.

“Who’s a good boy?” he said, giving the growly German Shepherd a biscuit. “You’re a good boy, Joff! Yes, you are!”

Sansa and Shae were no good – they didn’t care about police detective stuff at all – and Tyrion would listen for five minutes before drawing her into a cheerier topic.

And the one person she wanted to speak to most of all… well, she couldn’t go there.

These days, she spoke to Jaime as much as she did to Ilyn, which was not at all, as Ilyn didn’t have a tongue. After she had told him she didn’t need him on the day of the fete, Jaime had just withdrawn into himself and disappeared from her life. Brienne didn’t know it was possible to miss a person you saw every day this much. They would pass in the staff kitchen in morning, make tea, and then leave without saying a word to each other. At lunch time, they would eat in the same space, sometimes sitting on the same sofa, but remain silent. In the evenings, their colleagues would coax them down to _The Inn at the Crossroads_ , but they would just sit at opposite ends of the table, ignoring one another. Brienne found it especially sad because she could remember a time not too long ago when they would sit in the same pub holding hands.

The situation had got so bad that most nights, Brienne would cry herself to sleep over it. She missed him so much, yet she didn’t know how to make it better. Jaime wasn’t her friend anymore, so she couldn’t just _WhatsApp_ him and ask him to come around for a chat so they could talk it through. He’d never been her boyfriend, either, so it wasn’t as if they could have a mad shouting match and then kiss it out until they were in love again. The only thing she supposed they had ever briefly been was fuck buddies, and the tried and tested method she knew to deal with that situation didn’t seem to apply here. Back in London, after several months of doing it whenever he wanted, Hyle would come around and visit Brienne to tell her he met some woman at the pub who he thought he really had a shot with, and they would call it off. A couple of months later, after it inevitably went tits up, he’d be back, asking her for sex again. There had been so little emotion involved that Brienne had just been able to pick Hyle up and put him down whenever. In contrast, some days, just looking at Jaime used up all her emotional energy.

What made her feel even more pathetic about the whole thing was that she had started touching herself thinking about him. It was so easy to imagine his eyes, his smile, his smell, his strength, because she would think of their one night together, and would lose herself in the bliss of memory. However, afterwards, she would come down with a quick thud, suddenly reminded that she was lying in her own bed, totally alone.

 _You’re pathetic,_ she would then spit at herself. _He doesn’t want you. Why would he ever want you? You are ugly and unattractive and unlovable … and… and…_

It therefore turned out to be a mini miracle that the universe had sent her the world’s most schizophrenic cat. In the evenings, she would sit on her sofa cuddled up with Shadow looking at the pinboard brainstorm, which was getting bigger and bigger and bigger, to the extent that a whole wall in her lounge was devoted to the case.

“Do you think it has anything to do with all those weapons Jaime and I found on Walder Frey’s farm?”

“Miaow, miaow,” Shadow would mew as Brienne tickled her belly.

“I agree. It does seem awfully suspicious that there was a hidden stash of weapons in Casterly while a masked serial killer is on the loose. Maybe that’s why Loras, Renly, Stannis, Melisandre, and Beric’s deaths were so… improvised. The killer didn’t have the goods to work with she was expecting.”

She had pinned Tyrion’s report on the weapons to her pinboard – well, blue tacked it onto her wall. The mind map was now starting to look a little like a forest.

“And what about Beric? What was he working on? He must have had notes, or something…”

Shadow purred in agreement. In truth, Brienne had tried looking for some sign of what Beric had been working on, but it had turned out he was of “no fixed abode” and had liked to live on his feet. Wherever he had left his laptop, his notes, and his theories, Brienne couldn’t find them.

“And what about Cersei?” Brienne added. “I couldn’t see her anywhere when Beric was killed. Apparently, she was ‘on the toilet’, but I don’t believe that for a moment.”

Brienne had printed a picture of Jaime’s twin sister from the Lannister’s website and pinned it fairly centrally on her pinboard, writing _bladder control issues_ on her forehead in red pen. She knew it was petty, but she needed to get the little joys where she could.

Cersei’s tentacles connected her to most of the victims: Robert was her ex-husband, Stannis and Renly her brothers-in-law, Loras had been the social worker dealing with her children’s case, Ned had been her husband’s best friend. Only Melisandre and Lommy were more distant. Brienne thought that perhaps Melisandre had been collateral damage, the real target being Stannis, but Lommy?

“What do you think Shadow?”

The cat licked her hand with her rough tongue.

“That’s a good point,” said Brienne, picking the cat up and rubbing her against her face, “Lommy had a connection to _Lannisters_ – he was a regular shoplifter there – and he was friends with Arya Stark, Ned’s daughter.”

_Arya Stark._

Brienne suddenly realised she had completely forgotten about the only one person in the whole village that would listen to her incredible conspiracy theories.

* * *

 

According to the text Sansa sent her, Arya and her friends liked to hang around at Ned Stark’s old allotment on the outskirts of town.

 _Sansa:_           The allotment has a little shed. I think they like to listen to loud music and smoke.

After feeding Shadow, Brienne decided to take a walk across town in the late afternoon, armed with a notebook. She was sure that if she went in firm in agreement with Arya that her father had been murdered, the girl would be much more forthcoming about what she really thought was going on.

Brienne was so deep in thought that she almost didn’t notice the person calling her name when she reached the High Street.

“Sergeant Tarth! Sergeant Tarth! Can I speak to you for a moment?”

Brienne came to a halt to find a very blond man walking towards her. He was tall and thin, with the tell-tale green eyes that all the Lannisters shared. Squinting, it took her a moment to realise she recognised him. It was Lancel Lannister – Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion’s cousin – and they had met very briefly at the NWA party all those months ago when Brienne had first arrived.

“Lancel,” she said, not succeeding in hiding her surprise. “How can I help you?”

He looked at her with his big green eyes that were suddenly unsure and vulnerable. For a fleeting moment, she could have tricked herself into thinking she was looking at Jaime. Eventually, Lancel plucked up the courage to speak. “N… n… nothing. Good day Sergeant Tarth.”

He then gave her a half-hearted wave and moved away from her in the direction in which he had come.

 _Well, that was strange,_ thought Brienne.

Trying to push the thought of Lancel Lannister to one side, Brienne headed off in the direction of the allotments once more. She found Ned’s allotment very quickly, as it was clear it had become a little unkempt since his death. Furthermore, she knew she was in the right place as from the crooked little shed covered in ivy, Brienne could hear some very loud death metal thrashing out.

When she opened the door to the shed, she was met by an unusual sight.

The room was enveloped in a cloud of cigarette smoke, and there was a large boy sitting over in one corner, snoring loudly. In the other, Arya and Gendry were playing tonsil tennis, his hands up her skirt. Brienne gave a little cough to catch their attention.

“For fuck’s sake Sergeant Tarth,” shouted Arya, leaping off Gendry. “What the hell are you doing here?”

At the noise, the boy in the corner woke up.

“What’s going on?” he mumbled.

“Hot Pie,” hissed Gendry, “shhhh! Sergeant Tarth is here!” The two boys instantly shut their mouths, as Gendry turned the music off. All three of them looked at her with wary eyes.

“There’s no need to be alarmed,” said Brienne, stepping forward into their space. “I just wanted to talk to Arya.”

Arya was instantly on the defensive, folding her arms across her chest. “What about?”

Brienne took a deep breath, thinking approaching this with a steady manner was the best solution. “About your father. I think you are right. I think he was murdered.”

At that, Arya’s whole demeanour changed. Her posture became relaxed, and she let out something that approached a happy smile. “Really? You believe me?”

“Yes, I do,” said Brienne, “and I think your friend Lommy’s disappearance is also connected.”

The three teenagers looked up at Brienne with wonder in their eyes, as if they never expected a proper adult to believe them. Moving inside, she took a position on one of the motheaten bean bags that were scattered around the shed and told them everything she thought she knew; about the weapons, about the connections between the victims, and about the staged accidents. But most of all, she told them about Cersei Lannister.

“Cersei!” yelped Gendry, a horrified look on his face. Suddenly, Arya took his hand.

“What’s going on?” asked Brienne, confused. “What is your problem with Cersei?”

A troubled look passed between the three teenagers. “It’s a long story…” said Gendry.

“I have plenty of time,” said Brienne, getting out her notebook. “If we want to get to the bottom of this, you must tell me everything you know.”

He was a little hesitant at first, and it was only when Arya gave him an encouraging nod did Gendry speak. “I was raised by a single mother – Barra Waters was her name. Although she was a great mum – bubbly, kind, supportive – she worked in a pub in Lannisport and consequently… knew a lot of men. She would always refuse to tell me who my father was. I figured it was because she genuinely didn’t know, but then a year and a half ago, she was suddenly diagnosed with cervical cancer…”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Brienne, giving him a consoling look.

“Thanks,” said Gendry sadly, as Arya rubbed his shoulder. “About two months before she died, she told me that she had been wracked by guilt for years for not telling me who my father was. She said she thought it was in my best interest not to know, but now I was old enough, she thought I could deal with the information. One of the last things she did was invite him to the hospital so the three of us could sit down together, and she could explain to him that I may need a bit of support in the future.”

“That’s good,” smiled Brienne. “Did you manage to build a relationship?”

“Sort of,” said Gendry slowly. “You see… my father was Robert Baratheon.”

Brienne scrutinised him closely. Now she was looking at him properly, she could see the resemblance to his uncle Renly especially. “How did the meeting go?”

“Really well,” continued Gendry. “We went out for lunch, and he asked me how school was going. I told him I played a lot of rugby, and that seemed to make him happy because he did too back in the day. Eventually, he wanted me to meet his other kids – Tommen and Myrcella – he took all three of us out for dinner in Lannisport.”

Brienne narrowed her eyes. “What did Cersei think of that?”

Gendry let out a mirthless chuckle. “Cersei… wasn’t happy, but what could she do? She was in the process of divorcing Robert and her kids were being taken off her; it was not like she had much power.” Gendry went to light up a cigarette. “It only became a problem after Robert died. I had loads of solicitors pressuring me to push for my claims on _Baratheon Properties_. I even had my Uncle Stannis approach me with the offer that he would pay for any legal attempt to challenge Robert’s will which left everything to Tommen and Myrcella, on the condition that I sell him my third of the inheritance.”

Brienne looked confused. “Why would he do that?”

Gendry shook his head. “I don’t know, but I thought maybe that his existing chunk of the company plus whatever I inherited would finally give him a majority?”

That sounded plausible, so Brienne nodded and wrote this down as a possibility. “What happened then?”

Gendry took a drag of his cigarette. “Then it got weird. Stannis told me the best way to push for my claims was to get a DNA test. As Robert had been hurriedly cremated, Stannis and his lawyer argued the best thing to do was to compare my DNA to either Tommen or Myrcella, to prove we are siblings. At that, Cersei blew her top, saying she wouldn’t have her own children questioned for the sake of a bastard. It was at that point I decided to give up; even though my mum was dying, I started getting anonymous threatening messages that could only have come from Cersei.”

Brienne paled. Was there anything this woman wouldn’t stoop to? “What a cow,” she said, suddenly angry on his behalf. “Is that all you know?”

Gendry nodded, but Arya shook her head. Her grey eyes intense, she said, “my dad told me that Robert was saying weird stuff on the night of the hunt, the night he died. Stuff like _the seed is strong_. I don’t know what that means though, but we thought maybe it had something to with Gendry. Maybe Robert wanted to prove he was his son.”

Brienne wrote everything down diligently, asking them to repeat aspects of their story she might have missed the first time. Once she had got everything recorded, she smiled at them. “Thank you so much. We are definitely on to something. Beric Dondarrion knew there was something wrong in Casterly too – it’s just a shame I couldn’t find out where he was staying. Looking through his notes would be very illuminating.”

Suddenly, Hot Pie piped up. “Beric lived at _The Inn_.”

Brienne took a little intake of breath. “Beric was staying at a room at _The Inn at the Crossroads_?” she said, amazed.

“Yes,” said Hot Pie enthusiastically. “I overheard Masha complaining to Jorah when she came into the biscuit shop the other day. They only have one or two rooms, but I think Beric stayed there a lot of the time.”

Brienne got to her feet. “Right, I must go to _The Inn_ now. Hopefully they haven’t chucked Beric’s stuff out.”

“I’ll come with you!” said Arya, leaping up.

“No,” said Brienne firmly, “if we are right, we don’t want whoever is behind all this to figure out we are working together. We must act as normal as possible.”

Arya nodded solemnly. “I suppose you are right.”

“I am,” smiled Brienne, “but thank you – honestly – for all your help.”

For a moment, it seemed as if Arya was about to cry, then she threw her arms round Brienne’s neck. “Thank you for believing me.”

“Not at all,” whispered Brienne soothingly, “any time.”

* * *

 

When Brienne arrived at _The Inn at the Crossroads_ , she was hoping Podrick would be on shift but, unfortunately, it was only Pia.

“Pia…” Brienne said nervously as she got to the bar. Jaime seemed to hang over both of them. “How are you?”

“Well,” Pia replied. “Do you want a drink?”

Brienne smiled in a way that she hoped appeared nonchalant and convincing. “No thank you. I was just wondering if the rumours were correct that Beric Dondarrion was staying in one of your rooms before his untimely death?”

“Yeah,” said Pia, “it is true. He left all his stuff and Masha had to put it all in a cupboard until next of kin came to collect it, but no one showed.”

Brienne’s heart hammered in her chest with excitement. “Can I possibly have a look? I leant him my… copy of the board game _Boggle_ , and I want to see if it’s with his belongings.” It was a stupid lie, but it seemed to be working.

Pia shrugged. “Yeah, why not? No one else seems too bothered. Come this way.” Brienne fell silently into line as the barmaid led her out to the backrooms, past the toilets and up a little rickety set of stairs that led to the overhead flat. Once upstairs, they walked past a bedroom and a bathroom until they came to an office. It was a tidy room, with a desk that had a picture of Masha and her grandchildren balanced on top.

“It’s that cupboard there,” said Pia, indicating to a big wooden dresser behind the desk. “I’ll just be down in the bar if you need me.”

“Thanks,” said Brienne, as she watched Pia leave the room. Brienne then made her way over to the cupboard where Pia had told her Beric’s belongings were kept. Opening it up, she felt very sad. There was only one small gym bag and a rucksack inside; Brienne herself owned more. She started with the gym bag, but found it was just full of clothes and sentimental items. Turning to the rucksack, Brienne thought she had hit the jackpot. Inside was Beric’s laptop, his camera, and a scrappy notebook covered in scribbles. Knowing that it would take some time to crack Beric’s password, Brienne immediately put the laptop into her own bag, and began to flick through the notebook. Most of the pages were full of notes on various articles and interviews Beric had been conducting. Brienne even found the outline for the profile he had written on “Brian Tarth” when she had given a talk at the girl’s school. Eventually, towards the back, she found what she was looking for. In bold letters, she found a page entitled “Cersei Lannister”. Beric’s writing was so small and cramped that Brienne knew she would need some time to decipher this, but there was one thing that immediately jumped out at her. Down on the bottom left, in a smudged blue ink, was the phrase “Talk to Lancel Lannister”.

Brienne suddenly thought of the fair haired youth who had run away from her that very morning. Did he know something? She was just about to do some further flicking when there was a gentle knock at the door which made Brienne jump, causing her to drop several of the loose sheets. “Come in,” said Brienne, as she began to shove Beric’s notes in her rucksack.

It was Pia, again, her long hair now tied up in a messy ponytail, a worried look on her face. Brienne gave her a little smile, trying to instil some friendliness into their relationship.

“Thanks for your help,” said Brienne. “I’ve found what I was looking for. I’ll be going now.”

Pia slammed her arm across the door frame. “Not yet,” she said, tension coiling in her voice.

“Why not?”

Pia sighed, a worried look in her eye. “I think you probably need to be warned about what you are going to see downstairs.”

Brienne’s heart pounded. Another masked figure? Had the culprit realised she was hunting them and sent someone to kill her? Was it one of her colleagues, trying to dissuade her from her work?

“What is it?”

“It’s Jaime.”

That made her stomach sink even further than the thought of a masked serial killer waiting to murder her ever could.

“What about him?” said Brienne stiffly, fiddling with her rucksack in an attempt to look nonchalant.

“Well,” said Pia, weighing up her words. “He’s currently sitting at the bar having a drink with another woman.”

It felt as if someone had stabbed her with a serrated knife.

“Well that’s not really any of my business, is it?” Brienne managed to say, even though her tongue felt thick and heavy. “He’s a free man. He can do whatever he wants.”

Pia entered the room and shut the door. “Is that really all you have to say?” Brienne could feel her shoulders tightening. She didn’t really want to talk about this, especially not with Pia.

“Yes. What else _is_ there to say?”

“I don’t know,” said Pia, rolling her eyes. “Maybe scream a bit, call him a cheating scumbag?”

Brienne was confused at that statement. “Why would I call him a cheating scumbag? We’re not together.”

Pia’s eyes nearly popped out of her head at that point. “You’re not?”

“No! We’re just…”

Brienne was going to put a label on their relationship, but she didn’t think she had the words for it.

Pia looked as if the world had shifted underneath her feet, as if everything was not orientated as she once thought it was. “Why not?” asked Pia, genuinely perplexed. “Don’t you love him back?”

Brienne nearly choked on thin air. “Love him back?” she said incredulously. “He would need to love _me_ in the first place for me to love him back.”

“But he does!” said Pia emphatically. “It’s why we broke up. He didn’t want to lead me on when he had feelings for you.”

Pia took the serrated knife that was currently in Brienne’s belly and dragged it all the way across to her side, disembowelling her _hari-kari_ style.

“Well, he’s clearly changed his tune since then,” said Brienne, desperately trying to keep her voice level, “if he’s downstairs with some other woman.”

Pia looked at her as if she had lost her damn mind. “Seriously? Are you just going to stay up here, rustle through Beric’s things, and let some other woman take him away from you?” Pia’s pretty face was contorted with confusion. “During mine and Jaime’s very brief relationship, I could always feel the pull between you and him. I tried to distract him from you, unsuccessfully I might add, because I could see what a threat you posed.”

 _A threat? Me?_ thought Brienne, _that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard._

“I tried every stupid trick in the book, but it didn’t work. He wanted you.”

Brienne was very confused about where all this was coming from. “Why are you saying all this to me? When you want him?”

Pia smiled in a way that indicated she thought Brienne a silly child. “ _Wanted_ him. Not every woman has to be bitter and vindictive towards her exes. Jaime and I didn’t work out for reasons that were out of both of our control. And I want him to be happy – he’s a good guy – and you make him happy.”

“I make him miserable,” said Brienne sadly, “so miserable he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

Pia huffed, suddenly exasperated. “Fine, stay up here. I just thought you should be warned.” Opening the door once more, Pia finally left the room, leaving Brienne alone.

Brienne tried not to think too deeply on Pia’s words as she scrambled to the floor, picking up the loose papers. She was determined to get out of _The Inn_ as quickly as possible, hopefully fast enough that neither Jaime nor his mystery woman would see her. Not bothering to put the last few bits of paper in the rucksack, she left the office, hurtling down the stairs as quickly as she could, in order to avoid the worst sight in the world downstairs.

Unfortunately for her, however, there was a woman who was trying to get to the ladies’ toilets, so when Brienne went through the door leading into the pub’s main room, the two of them violently collided, and the loose sheets went everywhere once again.

“Sorry,” mumbled Brienne, as she dropped to the floor, picking up the paper.

“Yes,” said the woman tersely. “You should be. You nearly knocked me off my feet; you’re twice the size of me.”

Brienne could already tell she didn’t like this woman. She was nasty because she could be. The feeling of dislike only increased when Jaime suddenly appeared, a look of absolute horror on his face, and the woman spied it and gazed at him confusedly.

“Do you know each other?” the woman said, looking from Jaime to Brienne and back again.

Brienne turned her eyes to Jaime, and for the first time in weeks she found he was returning her gaze.

Did they know each other? They were barely casual work acquaintances… work colleagues at best… maybe even work husband and wife, on a good day… once upon a time they had been friends… buddies, chums, pals … they had once had sex… they had once made love… they had some sort of weird emotional connection… she probably liked him… she probably loved him… she definitely loved him… she was so deeply in love with him that she couldn’t speak about it… because she knew he didn’t love her back… he couldn’t love her back…

“Yes,” Brienne said eventually, very meekly. “We work together.”

That made Jaime drop his gaze.

Sensing the weird tension, the woman turned to Jaime, a laugh on her lips. “Well then, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Not quite looking at Brienne, he pointed between the two women one at a time. “Brienne Tarth, this is Taena Merryweather. Taena Merryweather, this is Brienne Tarth, my police partner.”

Brienne noticed that Jaime had omitted where he knew Taena from, so Brienne decided to push it against her better judgement.

“How do you know each other?”

While Jaime averted his eyes, Taena smiled, laying one hand on his chest. “Oh, Jaime and I go way back. He worked on a case for my fat old husband Orton a few years ago, and let’s just say he showed me what I was missing by marrying for money. My divorce from Orton has finally come through, and although we had tried to make it work while all that drama was ongoing, now I am totally free. Maybe ex-girlfriend can become girlfriend again?” She giggled and rubbed Jaime’s chest, almost as if she was marking her territory.

 _Of course_ this woman was Jaime’s ex-girlfriend. Taena was tall, but short enough that Jaime had a few inches on her. Her long black hair fell in tresses over her shoulder, and her dark eyes seemed to be constantly in flirtation mode. And to Brienne, everything about her seemed immoral. If ever Brienne had ever thought she had the tiniest chance with Jaime, it was quickly quashed when she looked at Taena.

Jaime still wasn’t looking at Brienne. He’d apparently found something very important to look at on the floor.

“Isn’t that right, Jay?” asked Taena.

“Something like that,” he muttered.

Taena rolled her eyes. “Men!” she tutted. “You try to get them to talk about their feelings and suddenly they’re tongue tied.” She turned back to Jaime, fixing him with a beautiful smile. “Darling, I’m just going to powder my nose. Stay and chat to Brienne, won’t you?”

Taena pecked him on the cheek and he went bright red. Brienne’s heart fell; he couldn’t even disguise his desire for his ex.

As soon as Taena disappeared behind the door to the toilets, Jaime tried to speak. “Brienne, I can explain.”

She didn’t want to talk to him anymore, didn’t even want to look at him; not his stupid face, not his handsome smile, nor those big green eyes that she could drown in. It was just yet another reminder of how intensely inadequate she was. Turning on her heel, she marched away from him, out of _The Inn at the Crossroads_ and into the street, heading home.

“Wait!”

She hadn’t expected him to follow, but even when she heard him behind her she carried on walking. The only thing that stopped her was the sensation of his hand on her arm.

“I don’t know what your problem is. I’m not the one who snuck out in the middle of the night without saying anything.”

She could feel her face flushing but tried to bat it away. “It was easier that way,” she said.

“Why?” Jaime snapped, stepping forward, his nearness making her body tingle, “what was easy about it?”

She couldn’t tell him. He’d laugh. And not only that, it would be like Connington all over again. There would suddenly be hundreds of people pointing and laughing at the fact that she had thought for a minute she was worthy of him. Yes, the High Street may have been deserted in that specific moment, but she was sure suddenly a thousand people would come pouring out onto the street from some place where a thousand people were hiding, gleeful at witnessing her humiliation. This was the sort of thing that always happened to her. Nobody wanted her heart, not even Jaime, so she was determined to keep it locked tight where no one could touch it.

Not wanting to be the one that pushed first, she remained frozen, his hand around her forearm, waiting for the world to move.

“Please, Brienne, look at me.”

There was something pleading in that, so she turned around, fixing him with a glare she hoped was ferocious. It didn’t scare him away. Instead, she felt the fingers of his left hand curl around her right. “Tell me,” he said gently. “What was easy about it?”

She blinked. _I will not cry._

“I didn’t have to face you.” The truth came out so easily that she internally kicked herself for her own weakness. She took a breath, trying to calm herself, but it only succeeded in fortifying her anger.

“Me?” he said, surprised, “what’s so scary about me?”

Brienne snapped. “I didn’t want to face you laughing when you woke up. You would have made some stupid joke about the fact that only beer goggles would have induced you to sleep with the most flat-chested, ugliest _wench_ in the country, and you would have meant it. And then you would have gone to work and laughed about it there too, about me being desperate, and told everyone I only had one fucking cranberry juice and you still got into my knickers.”

“It was a cranberry mojito actually…” Jaime tried to interject, but she continued.

“You’d have made stupid little comments to the Hound, and messaged Margaery, and you’d have had everyone laughing behind my back. And then you’d have gone out with Taena anyway and screwed her too, just because you could, just like you did with Pia.”

Every fear she had ever had about her own inadequacy and his motives tumbled out of her, and she felt her eyes brimming with tears. She tried to blink them away, but soon they were rolling down her cheeks. “But the difference between Taena and me is that you’d at least pretend to be her boyfriend in order to fuck her, whereas with me it would have been too damn embarrassing to be seen with the _big, ugly wench_.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she continued, silencing him. “And I won’t do that again. I won’t. I won’t be used for sex and then laughed at. It was a fucking mistake. We should never have done it. We should have known it would ruin everything. I should have known what it would be like.”

Jaime shook his head, his voice raising in pitchy irritation as he said, “what was it like? From my end it was amazing…”

“That you would laugh.”

“When did I laugh? You were gone before we could talk.”

“You always laugh at me. The first time we met you called me a _big, ugly, hench wench_.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Yes, the night we met I was an utter dick to you. But we know each other now. I wouldn’t use those words any more… well, apart from wench, but I still call you that affectionately because you are _my wench_. No one else…” He looked at her imploringly. “And don’t you also remember that was same night I drove into a war memorial?”

She pushed aside his objections. “I know what men like _you_ are like.”

That annoyed him. “There are no men like me. There is only me.”

She tried to pull away, but he held on tighter, his eyes overcome by a new emotion. “Brienne, I wouldn’t have laughed.” His voice was soft, coaxing. “When we woke up, I would have wrapped my arms around you and told you how great you make me feel, because it’s the truth. I would have kissed you, held you, we could have done it again. I would have made you breakfast and then driven you to work and asked to see you later for dinner. I wouldn’t have told the Hound, Margaery, or Tyrion if you didn’t want me to, and I would have shouted it from the rooftops if you did.”

He took a breath, lacing his fingers with hers. “I would have told you I had wanted us to happen for such a long time, because I love you.”

Her expression flickered as he smiled, full of sunlight, and it made him let out a relieved laugh. “God, I think I’ve loved you since you locked me in the slammer on your first day, because you didn’t put up with any of my bullshit. And then we worked together, and I was so impressed with how devoted you were to your job, and doing the right thing, and being the best police officer you could be for your community. You’re the best damn copper I’ve ever met. You are never lazy, you never put off till tomorrow what can be done today. You are always diligent, and one hundred percent committed to helping everyone who needs it. You make me realise how bitter and cynical I have become, and how I could be the police officer I wanted to be once again, if only I believed I could.”

He wouldn’t stop talking, it seemed to be rushing out of him. “Once I realised what I felt, I tried to win you over. At Margaery’s birthday, I wasn’t making fun of you. You looked so sad and I wanted to make you feel better… and I wanted to wrap my arms around you and dance with you. And then I couldn’t work out how to just ask you out without you thinking it was all some elaborate ruse. Our relationship has never been a joke to me. You are so beautiful, inside and out, and I’ve tried, and _I’ve tried_ to come up with the best way to say this all to you before, but I’m just shit with all this emotional stuff. Then I had the brilliant idea to let my dick do the talking and I cocked that up too because I’m an idiot. But none of that matters, because I’m saying it now.”

He paused to fix her with a dazzling smile. “I love you, Brienne, and I have, pretty much, from the moment we met.”

She just stood there, staring at him, her mouth open in shock. The sight seemed to amuse him, as he was smiling at her in a way that nobody ever had before. It unnerved her. When she didn’t respond immediately, he lifted his left hand to brush her cheek, wiping away her tears and hoping to inspire a reaction. His lips pressed softly against hers and for a moment she found herself washed away by the same flood of emotion that had taken her when she was in his bed.

When he drew back, she blinked.

She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe _him_.

They had just popped outside the pub for a few minutes while his conventionally attractive date powdered her nose, and here he was claiming he loved her.

_You are so beautiful._

Overcome by sadness, anger, admiration, fear, respect, confusion, shame, love, jealousy, and every other stupid emotion she felt for this man, as well as an overwhelming awareness of her own inexperience and inadequacy, she did the only thing that seemed sensible at the time.

She shoved his hand away.

“You fucking liar.”

Without another word, she walked away, leaving him standing in the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm going to post this then immediately go to sleep so I can avoid the backlash :D
> 
> What I was trying to do here was to see how low self-esteem and self-hatred effected Jaime and Brienne's relationship. After all, I *think* that's what the showrunners were trying to go for in the JB break up in Season 8 (but to be honest, who knows what their intentions were...)
> 
> If you like my writing, please also try out a new one shot I posted today called "Always and Forever". It is mostly show canon compliant and very bittersweet angsty.
> 
> Once more, please give me comments and kudos, and come back next time!
> 
> Next chapter... Brienne comes to terms with what she has done...


	19. Japanese Peace Lilies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne tries to make things right with Jaime, while dark clouds gather in Casterly,,,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you are all not too emotionally traumatised from last chapter. Here is a new one to hopefully sate your appetite! As usual, please leave comments and kudos. I LOVE THEM.
> 
> Not beta'd (as usual) so might be riddled with errors!

The worst thing about it all was that the moment she saw the way his face fell, Brienne knew Jaime was telling her the truth.

Besides the way he had looked at her as he said “I love you” – bright and welcoming and full of joy – there was Pia’s insistence that he had ended their relationship for her, and even the notorious “Operation Get Jaime and Brienne into a Loving and Committed Long Term Relationship Group Chat”. Thinking back on it even further, Brienne could remember a conversation she’d had with Tyrion at Margaery’s party. At the time, she’d been very confused why Tyrion had insisted Renly was clearly smitten with her when he was obviously very gay, but now it was clear; Tyrion had not been talking about the man Brienne was looking at, but about Jaime, who had been standing to Renly’s right.

Jaime had just offered her the wildest of all her dreams – him – and she had shoved it back in his face. Any sane person would say it was an utterly stupid, crazy thing to do, but in that moment when he had offered her everything, she just could not accept. Brienne had permitted herself to love him from a distance – safe, unnoticed, unrequited – because it didn’t require anything from her other than to accept what she already knew about herself and him. When he spoke of his love for her, he was open and vulnerable, handsome, kind, good, glowing with loveliness. What would happen if she agreed? Brienne felt like she’d be tricking him into something he didn’t really want. He thought he was in love now, yes, but when he really got to know her? He would discover what she already knew about herself – that there was nothing worthy of him or his love inside. She had pushed him away to stop him finding out that truth.

It was those thoughts she consoled herself with when she went to bed that night. For the first time in a month she didn’t cry herself to sleep.

 _It’s better this way,_ she told herself. _This way, he only thinks of you in a good light._

She had talked herself into the belief that this was the best of all worlds by the morning, so managed to get into her uniform and have breakfast without getting too upset. After saying goodbye to Shadow, she even managed to walk to work, listening to Beyoncé on her phone. That little belief system she had built for herself was entirely shattered once she arrived at the station. She headed straight for the staff kitchen to make herself a tea and get a chocolate Hobnob.

“What the fuck have you done to Lannister?” said the Hound as soon as he saw her. “He’s just sitting at his desk, refusing to come on patrol, reeking of alcohol.”

Brienne felt herself stiffen. “Why do you think I did something?”

The Hound let out a little chuckle. “Come on Tarth, you are the only one who could have this much of an effect on him.”

“I don’t think that’s true…” Brienne tried to protest, but suddenly Margaery appeared in the kitchen, to make herself a coffee.

“Yes, Brienne. It is true. It’s your doing,” she said, it as if it were the most obvious thing ever.

“How do you know?” said Brienne a little sullenly, not wanting it to be true, because that would mean she had hurt him.

“Our other group chat. Tyrion messaged us all to say the alarm went off at the Armoury Museum at half past three this morning. He rushed round to find out what was going on, and found Jaime trying to break his way into the antique pistol section, drunk as a skunk. Tyrion asked him what was wrong, and then he just broke down, started crying and saying, ‘she hates me’ over and over again. What did you _do_ , Brienne?”

All of Brienne’s insides started knotting themselves into animal shapes.

“Oh god,” was all she could really think of saying.

“Yes,” said Margaery, a little crossly. “ _Oh god_. Have you seen him?”

Brienne shook her head, trying to blink to stop herself crying. She was immobile, so Margaery took her by the arm and led her over to the kitchen’s glass door. The Hound followed. Soon, the three of them (and Joff) were staring through the glass across the staff room at Jaime Lannister. He was sitting in front of his computer, his head in his hands, slumped on his desk. An incredible wave of guilt bubbled over Brienne as she saw what she had done to him; he was usually so bouncy, funny, and bright. It broke her heart to see what she had reduced him to.

“It’s probably better this way,” said the Hound gruffly. “Unrequited love hurts. You’ve just ripped the plaster off for him. He’ll get over it.”

The words were out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying. “But it’s not unrequited… I love him back…”

Margaery snapped her head around. “Pardon? What did you just say?”

Brienne’s face was going red as Margaery’s hazel eyes seemed to grow bigger and bigger. “I love him back, okay? Put it on the _WhatsApp_ group.”

Margaery started beaming at her. “Can I? Seriously? That’s like the best news I’ve heard all week! You are finally getting in touch with your feelings, Brienne!” Margaery then flung her arms round Brienne’s neck. “Congratu-fucking-lations!”

Brienne wanted to smile, but it was no use. “It’s too late…” she tried to insist, but Margaery was still buoyed up by Brienne’s confession.

“Didn’t I tell you that you two were a thing all the way back at Longleat? Come on! Group hug! This deserves a celebration!” With one hand, Margaery signalled to the Hound to join in, and although he growled, he eventually acquiesced.

They stood there awkwardly for a couple of seconds before the Hound said, “right, that’s enough of that,” and went to pet Joff. With that, Margaery also finally released Brienne, but she was still grinning like an idiot. “So, we need to sort this out,” Margaery said, walking over to the kettle to turn it on. “What on earth did you say to him that he got so drunk he tried to break into a museum at three in the morning?”

Brienne sighed, cringing internally. It would physically pain her to let her friend know what a moron she had been, but she knew she needed her help if she was ever going to fix this. So Brienne poured her heart out to Margaery (and the Hound and Joff) over everything that had happened – how she’d seen Jaime at the pub, how Taena had been rude and more beautiful than Brienne could ever be, how it had seemed that Jaime and Taena were getting back together, how Jaime had chased her out of the pub when she ran away, how he had told her he loved her in the sweetest, most beautiful, most romantic way, and how she had broken his heart.

Margaery let out a low whistle through her teeth. “Well… yes. I can see how that’s a bit of a pickle.”

Brienne turned around and made Margaery her coffee and herself a tea, before getting out the packet of chocolate Hobnobs. “Tell me what to do, Margaery. How do I make this right?”

To her surprise, it was not Margaery who spoke next, but the Hound. As he began, he rolled his eyes. “You know, there are these things that humans have invented called words. People generally use them to tell other people what they are thinking and feeling. If you were being really radical, you could just march up to Lannister right now and tell him you love him too. I think that might get the message across.”

“No,” moaned Brienne, a bubble of fear in her belly, “it wouldn’t. I’ve hurt him too much. I called him a liar when he was only telling me the truth. I’ve pushed him away again and again and again. On what planet is _I love you too_ going to be enough of an apology?”

The Hound shrugged. “Maybe it’s not enough, but it’s a good start.”

Brienne turned back to Margaery, who was biting her lip. “I agree. It’s the best place to start.” Margaery picked up the tea and got out a little plate and put two Hobnobs on it. “Take this to Jaime now, put them down next to him, and just tell him.”

Brienne’s heart was hammering in her chest. She felt sick.

 _Be brave,_ she told herself. _You can do this._

Nodding at Margaery, she took the mug of tea and the Hobnobs. “Thanks.”

“That’s okay,” said Margaery, beaming at her. “You are going to sort this out. It will all turn out well. Love will win in the end.”

At that moment, Brienne was overcome by such an unlimited affection for the only best friend she had ever had that she almost cried.

“Margaery…”

“Go now,” said Margaery, going to the door to open it for her. “Don’t waste another second.”

Brienne smiled at her friend and, following her orders, she exited the kitchen, her hands shaking. Only when she saw Margaery close the door, did Brienne turn to look across the room at Jaime. He hadn’t moved; he was still slumped over the desk, his head resting on his folded arms. She took a step towards him.

_Jaime, I’m sorry. I love you._

_I’m an idiot. You’re perfect. I love you._

_Jaime, I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I don’t deserve your love, but I_ do _love you._

Suddenly she was standing next to him, looking down at his crumpled form. She put the tea and the Hobnobs down beside him in an attempt to stop her hands shaking. The sound of the china making contact with the table roused Jaime from his stupor, and he turned his head towards her, blinking in the light. The sight of him shocked her. Jaime had always been a man who was very proud of his appearance, keeping himself meticulously clean shaven. Today, he had not bothered. His face was very pale, his eyes were bloodshot, and she could smell the alcohol on him. He looked the way he had on the day she met him; drunk, aggressive, and snarling.

Her words abandoned her. “I brought you tea and Hobnobs.”

_And I love you._

His green eyes gazed into her blue for a transient moment, before he lifted a lazy, disinterested hand and waved her away, then sunk back into his depression.

* * *

 

She spent the morning on patrol with Margaery, furiously brainstorming what to do next.

“I mean, you could have just said the words,” said Margaery pointedly, “but if you feel you need to make a bigger song and dance of it, I suppose we can do that.”

Brienne rubbed her chin. “I was thinking romantic gifts, something so obvious he couldn’t mistake them for anything else. Like a heart shaped biscuit or something.”

“Yes!” said Margaery enthusiastically, “I know Jorah sells some at _Biscuits for All Occasions_. Also, go and get some of those really expensive Belgian chocolates from _Lannisters_.”

“And flowers. Flowers are a romantic gift. Surely gifts plus _I love you_ might get me slightly back into his good books. I can grovel from there.”

Margaery promised to cover Brienne, saying if anything came up, she would text her. Brienne nodded, and left Margaery sat in the car in the High Street and went in search of the most romantic selection of gifts she could find. She started at _Lannisters_ , eventually settling on a giant box of seahorse shaped chocolates, and then couldn’t resist a cuddly otter that sung _Don’t Worry, Be Happy_ when you pressed its nose. Even if Jaime hated her guts forever, a least her gifts might taste good and help raise a smile.

She then went to see Jorah at _Biscuits for All Occasions_.

“Do you really have biscuits for all occasions?” asked Brienne, looking at the many options Jorah had on offer on the counter.

“Yes,” said Jorah, as he laid a new tray of gingerbread out. “Christmas. Easter. Midsummer. Birthdays. Whatever you want.”

“Do you have a biscuit that could make a man fall in love with you?” she asked hopefully.

Jorah shook his head confusedly. “Are you alright?” questioned Brienne.

He eventually came back into the room. “Yes… fine. I just had a weird sense of déjà vu, that’s all. Anyway, we have some heart-shaped shortbread, if you think that’s his bag?”

After she had bought several shortbreads off Jorah, she then walked round to the only florist in Casterly. _Primavera_ sat just off the High Street in a secluded corner off town; unless you had business at the florists, you were very unlikely to venture down there. The shop bell dinged as she entered. _Primavera_ was dark; this was partially because of the dark green wallpaper that covered every wall, but also because of the large number of huge oversized plants that blocked out the light. The counter was empty, so Brienne moved forward and rang the bell on the counter.

“Coming! Coming!” came a voice from upstairs. “I’ll be two minutes.”

Brienne was happy to wait. Putting the bag with the chocolate, biscuits, and singing otter down on the ground, she took a little stroll round the room, having a look at some of the more unusual plants. She then noticed that plants were not the only things decorating the room. High up on the walls, were a line of photographs of a series of blond people that all seemed familiar. Looking closer, she realised that she was looking at the Lannisters; she spotted Tywin, Cersei, Lancel, Tommen and Myrcella. Scanning the images for Jaime, she was surprised to find that he didn’t appear at all, and there was only one photograph of Tyrion. In fact, she started to suspect that Jaime’s absence was deliberate; there was one photo of Cersei that had been ripped down the middle, obscuring the person whose hand was wrapped around her waist and Brienne knew Jaime Lannister well enough to recognise his left hand anywhere.

“Ah, Sergeant Tarth,” came a voice. Brienne looked down from the photograph of Jaime’s left hand to see his cousin Lancel entering the shop from upstairs. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I’m moving the shop to Buford Abbey in two weeks; I am putting everything into boxes upstairs.”

“Oh,” said Brienne gently, “that’s a shame. What made you want to leave Casterly?” She could not imagine leaving the little village now.

Lancel looked sad. “Problems of the heart…” He shook his head, as if to brush away the thought. “Anyway, how can I help you?”

Brienne moved close to the desk. “I was wondering if you could recommend me a particular flower. I want to get something for someone that symbolises peace, friendship, and love all at once. Is there anything that fits the bill?” She had decided she did not want to get him roses; she didn’t want to be too cliché.

Lancel went to the stand at the back, drawing out a large plant with heavy green leaves and white flowers. “What about a Japanese Peace lily? It symbolises purity and innocence, as well as the rebirth of a soul. It offers a chance at a new beginning. What do you think of that?”

 _A new beginning,_ thought Brienne, _where Jaime and I are not work colleagues or friends or enemies, but lovers._

“That sounds perfect,” she said, pulling out her purse as Lancel told her the price. He had just wrapped it up in pink plastic and written a little card that simply said _I love you_ , when he asked her a question.

“I hope you don’t mind if I ask,” said Lancel, “but who are these for?”

Brienne smiled meekly. “Your cousin, actually. I need to say ‘I love you’, and I’m not sure how.”

Lancel’s face suddenly dropped like a stone and then he was overcome with an incredible fury. “You too?!? Is there anyone that bitch hasn’t had her hands all over? Cersei’s a lying whore, she’s been fucking Bronn Blackwater and Senelle, and probably Moon Boy for all I know.” His rage grew bigger and bigger as he began spitting black bile about what a whore and a slut Cersei was, how she had no respect for anyone or anything, not even her own body.

Brienne managed to stammer out, “Lancel, I’m talking about Jaime…” but he wasn’t listening.

“She’s cheated on me for long enough,” he fumed. “It’s only a good thing that I am getting out of here for Buford Abbey. I cannot put up with that vindictive snake anymore.”

Brienne found herself looking up at the photos of the Lannisters lining the walls. The fact that Cersei’s face was everywhere now made sense; Lancel and Cersei had apparently been having some sort of incestuous affair for some time. As Lancel spat more furious insults, Brienne suddenly noticed which other two family members pictures' seemed to be displayed everywhere in this shop.

Tommen and Myrcella.

_The seed is strong._

Tommen and Myrcella were Lannister gold, whereas Gendry had the Baratheon coal black hair.

“Lancel,” said Brienne quietly. That she had dropped her voice made him stop raving. “Are you Tommen and Myrcella’s father?”

Lancel instantly went bright red. “I… I…”

“I’m not judging you,” she said softly, “but the facts of your relationship with Cersei might be very pertinent to a case I am working on. What you have to say may save lives. How long has it been going on for? And who knew about it?”

Lancel sighed. “It’s over now,” he said sadly, as if he could never be over it. “I discovered I was not the only one. But before then, we were together for years, ever since I was a teenager, even before she got married. Her husband Robert – god rest him – only found out about us a few days before he died, and he told his best friend Ned – god rest him. Cersei suspected that Robert had told his brother Stannis – god rest him – and Stannis had such a big mouth that he told his girlfriend Melisandre – god rest her – as well as the social worker, Loras – god rest him – who was working on the divorce case. He may have told his boyfriend Renly – god rest him – but I don’t know for certain. And then there was that reporter, Beric Dondarrion – god rest him – he was always trying to get some dirt on the Lannisters. Cersei told me he threatened to expose everything at the summer fete.”

Brienne thought she was going to explode. This was it. This was the crucial piece of information that tied all these deaths with a neat bow.

“Please Sergeant Tarth,” said Lancel, suddenly cautious. “You can’t tell anyone. It threatens the children’s share of _Baratheon Properties_. You’re the only one in Casterly who knows… well, other than that Lommy kid. He walked in on us once.”

Brienne’s heart was in her mouth. She tried to remain calm, as if what he had told her hadn’t just cracked open this case like a nut. “Give me one moment, Lancel. I have just got to go back to the car and get my note book. Do you mind running through that with me again, so I can make sure I have my facts straight?”

“Of course,” said Lancel, smiling slightly. It seemed as if telling her that story had lifted a weight of his shoulders. “I’m done with her now. I want a fresh start.”

"I'll do anything to help," said Brienne. Picking up the bag and the Japanese Peace lily, Brienne made her way towards the door. Margaery was only parked a few minutes away, so hopefully she would be able to deposit her things and return quickly. When she was outside, she turned to look back at Lancel, momentarily puzzling over the fact that he had been the key to the case.

What she saw next when she looked through the window of _Primavera_ made her blood run cold.

From behind Lancel came the familiar hooded masked figure, this time carrying a pair of huge garden shears. Brienne did not have time to move or react before the figure lifted the weapon and plunged it into Lancel’s throat, nearly decapitating him, a torrent of blood erupting as she did so.

“Stop! In the name of the law!” cried Brienne.

The murderer spotted her and, giving her no time to catch up, charged towards the back of the building. She smashed through _Primavera’s_ back door, which was made of glass, and Brienne was shocked to find the shattered glass inflicted a nasty cut on the murderer’s ankle. However, it did not slow her down, as she managed to vault over the fence at the bottom of Lancel’s garden. Brienne followed but, being taller and more ungainly, she couldn’t pick up the pace to enable her to leap over with the same grace. Consequently, she had to go the long way through the garden gate, and by the time she got around the figure was gone.

Brienne didn’t waste a moment. Picking up her phone, she immediately dialled the Chief. “Sir, your nephew, Lancel has just been murdered in his own shop. I saw it with my own eyes. You need to come down here, now!”

The Chief began to speak. “Sergeant Tarth…”

“Now!” she insisted. “I’ll explain when you get here.”

She then phoned Margaery, who promised she’d be round in a flash.

Last but not least, she texted Arya.

 _Brienne:_           The killer just struck again. Lancel Lannister was just stabbed to death with his own shears. I know it was Cersei. I am going to prove it, and you are going to help me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnnd I hope you enjoyed that. I know there wasn't a lot of Jaime, but hopefully it really kicked the murder mystery into action.
> 
> Once again, please leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed my work!
> 
> Next chapter... Brienne decides to unmask Cersei once and for all...


	20. Changing the Record

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne goes to confront Cersei...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooorrryyy this is late. There's A LOT going on in this chapter, and I had to make sure it was all correct :D
> 
> I'm probably going to be posting a two day intervals from now on, as these chapters are now getting more complicated and I can't just go "oooh, I'm going to send Margaery and Brienne to Longleat to get attacked by a monkey" like I could in the early days!
> 
> Thank you once again for the comments and kudos - it astounds me and amazes me and inspires me to keep writing!
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

“LANCEL LANNISTER WAS FUCKING MURDERED!” screamed Brienne at the packed staff room, filled with all her colleagues.

“What? Just like Beric Dondarrion?” smirked Robb Stark.

“YES!”

“And Stannis Baratheon?” said Other Robb.

“YES!”

“And Melisandre Asshai?” taunted Robb Stark.

“YES!”

“And Renly Baratheon?”

Brienne’s face went blank. “No, actually.”

Robb Stark looked surprised at that. “Really?”

“OF COURSE HE FUCKING WAS!”

Robb Stark rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips. “Oh, murder, murder, murder. Change the fucking record!”

Trying to calm the situation, Jon Snow spoke. “Yes, come on Sergeant Tarth. You’ve got to accept that it was another terrible accident.”

Brienne rounded on him. “Are you trying to tell me that Lancel Lannister somehow tripped and fell on his own shears?”

Jon shrugged. “Jory Cassel tripped and fell on his own _pitchfork_ the other week.”

“People have accidents every day,” interjected Margaery, a serious look on her face. “What makes you think it was murder?”

Brienne looked at her friend imploringly. “Because I was there!”

Robb Stark narrowed his eyes. “That’s a point. What were you doing there?”

Brienne tried to stop herself going bright red, but it was too late. “I’d… I’d… gone to buy Constable Lannister a Japanese Peace Lily by way of an apology.”

Even as she said it, she could feel Jaime’s eyes boring into the back of her skull.

A look passed between her colleagues before Robb Stark said, “what absolute horseshit.”

Brienne turned around, taking in her colleagues’ incredulous expressions one by one. “I chased a suspect from the scene. Innocent people don’t run!”

“The CCTV at _Primavera_ wasn’t switched on,” said Robb Stark. “You are the only person who saw this supposed masked killer.”

The fact that no one was willing to believe her just made Brienne furious. “AM I GOING COMPLETELY MAD?!?!”

She heard the click of a lock as Tywin came out of his office. “Sergeant Tarth, can I have a word?”

“YES… sir,’’ she said, her fury diminishing when she saw her superior’s calm expression. Without saying anything, he opened the door of his office, signalling for her to come, and Brienne followed him inside. Tywin’s office was an imperiously neat place and the only splash of colour was a vase of daffodils sitting next to his computer. After they entered the room, Tywin shut the door behind him and pointed to a chair in front of his desk. When she took the seat, Tywin went around the other side, sitting in his vastly superior swivel chair.

“Sergeant Tarth,” he said slowly, exhaling, “what are we going to do with you?”

Brienne felt her temper rising once more. “Sir. The Robbs need to investigate. They need to understand…”

“No, Sergeant. You need to understand,” said Tywin forcefully. “Murder? There hasn’t been a recorded murder in Casterly in twenty years. The Robbs know this town, they both grew up here, and know what to expect. Murder isn’t one of them.”

She bristled at the thought that she didn’t know Casterly, but pushed it aside to continue, “but maybe it takes an outsider to see what is going on. Lancel was murdered by a hooded figure carrying garden shears.”

Tywin sighed before shaking his head. “You’re a truly exceptional officer, Brienne. Truly exceptional. But I’ve seen this before.”

That confused her. “When?”

“Sergeant Stark,” said Tywin gently. “Ned also had to suffer through the death of someone he loved, and suddenly saw murderers everywhere. It’s the same for you. It’s no secret that you and Renly were friends; you want justice, but what if there is no justice to be had? What if it was just a terrible accident?”

“It wasn’t an accident,” she said, her voice rising. “And more importantly, I can tell you who did it.”

Tywin fixed her with his Lannister eyes. “Who?”

She took a breath, crossing her fingers under the table. “Your daughter, Cersei.”

When his expression didn’t change – neither in shock nor outrage – she threw herself into telling him everything she knew about Robert and Stannis and Lancel and the children. She laid out the web of connections that she and Arya had meticulously built and tried to get him to see the darkness underneath Casterly that was so obviously there. For the most part, she kept Arya out of it; she didn’t think it was fair to bring her into everything, not until Cersei had been arrested at least.

“Sergeant Tarth,” said Tywin slowly. “You are asking me to believe that my own daughter is capable of such a crime.”

She knew it was a lot for a father to bear but went on regardless. “I know it’s hard to believe, sir, but it is true. When I chased the murderer from Lancel’s shop, they cut their leg on the broken glass of the door. Cersei will have a fresh cut on her leg if she is guilty. I know she will.”

The corner of Tywin’s mouth turned in a way that Brienne would have thought was a smile if she didn’t know better.

“Alright,” he said. “Show me what you think you know."

* * *

 

Senelle was sitting at her desk blowing bubbles when the entirety of the Casterly Constabulary turned up at _Lannisters_ , dressed in riot gear and armed with a growly police dog.

“I am Sergeant Brienne Tarth,” said Brienne, even though she and Senelle had met before. “I need to speak to Cersei Lannister, _now_.”

Senelle rolled her eyes, before leaning into the tannoy microphone and switching it on. “Ms Lannister to the manager’s office. Manager’s office, MS LANNISTEEEERRR.”

As they waited for Cersei to make her appearance, Brienne tried not to look at Jaime. It was very difficult as he was only standing a few feet away, still pale and fixed with a tormented look. Even though he wasn’t glancing in her direction, she could still feel the heat and weight of his presence in the little room.

 _He’ll never want me now,_ Brienne thought. _Not after I arrest his twin sister for murder._

The door opened with a dramatic swing as Cersei Lannister made her way into the room. As usual, she was overdressed. She was wearing a bright red catsuit, with her blonde hair hanging loose around her waist and pair of massive gold hoops in her ears. Next to her came the hulking figure of the Mountain.

“Gentlemen,” she said, giving Brienne a saccharine smile, “and ladies.” She faced Margaery for that second statement. “What can I do for you?” Walking across the room, Cersei expelled Senelle from the seat by the desk with a simple flick of her finger and took her place. The Mountain followed as an unpleasant shadow. The power that Cersei exuded felt poisonous.

Brienne saw no need for stringing this out, if only to save Jaime as much pain as possible. “Cersei Lannister, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Lancel Lannister on 16th July 2019.”

Cersei opened her beautiful green eyes wide. “Lancel is dead? How?”

Jon piped up. “He tripped and fell on his own shears.” Brienne picked up a pen from Cersei’s desk and lobbed it in his general direction, but it only succeeded in hitting Jaime.

Brienne continued. “I am also arresting you on suspicion of the murders of Beric Dondarrion on 18th June, Stannis Baratheon and Melisandre Asshai on 15th June, Loras Tyrell and Renly Baratheon on 17th May, and of Robert Baratheon on 21st August 2018.”

Cersei leant back in her chair, laughing softly, putting her _Jimmy Choos_ on the desk. “You are painting me to be some kind of serial killing maniac, Sergeant Tarth. Why on earth would I do any of the things you have accused me of?”

Brienne smiled. “I’m glad you asked Ms Lannister.” She hooked her hands behind her back, ready to tell everyone gathered the truth. “My suspicions were first aroused on the night of the NWA party, when you mentioned that you had a loving relationship with your ex-husband Robert and were distraught over the thought that he had died after accidentally slitting his own throat while shaving. Through asking around, I discovered this wasn’t the case at all. You and Robert had a very acrimonious divorce, and there had been a very tense custody battle over your two children, Tommen and Myrcella.”

Cersei’s cheeks started to go a little red, so Brienne continued. “Then you appeared at the scene of the Tyrell-Baratheon deaths on the outskirts of Casterly, despite living and working on the other side of the village. I remembered your comments from the theatre the previous night, where you had discussed your suspicions of Loras Tyrell’s involvement in the custody battle, as well as your general dislike for Stannis, Melisandre, and Renly.”

Brienne began pacing up and down the space in front of the desk, while Cersei’s eyes followed her. “On the night of Stannis and Melisandre’s drinks reception, you were one of the few people in Casterly who didn’t attend the party, preferring to stay at home at Casterly Rock with your father and children. Given what happened, that almost suggests a pre-existing knowledge of the events that were going to occur, especially considering the need for your children to be away from Storm’s End. I felt that something was truly wrong when I discovered that Stannis Baratheon was planning to push for Gendry Waters to take a DNA test, in order to have him recognised as an heir to _Baratheon Properties_. Knowing what a threat this would be to your children’s inheritance, you saw red, and furiously objected to Tommen and Myrcella taking part in any such test. To an outsider, this may have just seemed as if you were doing everything in your power to discredit Gendry Waters, but then just before Lancel Lannister’s death, he confirmed to me that the two of you had been engaged in an affair for many years. As Gendry is the spitting image of his father, and Tommen and Myrcella both look like Lannisters, it would only take a simple DNA test to prove that your children are not Robert Baratheon’s, but Lancel’s.”

She expected Cersei to quiver at this revelation, but instead she remained passive. Brienne continued. “I am not the first person to work this out; Beric Dondarrion did so too, and he came to confront you about it on the day of the summer fete. He threatened to expose you while the two of you argued in Samwell Tarly’s map room. You silenced him before he could tell me what he knew.”

Brienne slammed her hand down on the desk in front of Cersei, but her blonde nemesis did not flinch. “I propose that you slit your husband’s throat when he discovered that Tommen and Myrcella were not in fact his children, but your cousin Lancel’s, fearing that they would be disinherited. You then had to silence anyone in Casterly who you thought knew the truth; you staged a car accident to make it look like your decapitation of Loras, your children’s social worker, and Robert’s brother Renly was a traffic collision. You used landmines that had been hidden in the woods to blow up Storm’s End, the home of the couple who were pushing for Gendry to be recognised as an heir, by making it appear to be a gas leak. You broke off a piece of St Alysanne’s church roof to murder Beric Dondarrion and stabbed Lancel with a pair of shears when you discovered he was leaving you for Buford Abbey. Through other nefarious means, you may also have had a hand in the disappearances of Ned Stark and Lommy Greenhands, both of whom either knew of your affair with Lancel or suspected your involvement in Robert Baratheon’s death.”

Brienne tried to suppress a smile but found it difficult as she felt she had well and truly caught Cersei. “You are a murderer, Cersei,” said Brienne gently. “And it’s about time you admitted it.”

The room went very quiet as Cersei zoned in on her with her green eyes. Even though they were so similar to Jaime’s, Cersei’s cruelty and contempt were entirely unfamiliar. Jaime was full of warmth and love.

 _Not anymore. From now on he’ll look at me like Cersei does,_ thought Brienne sadly. _I better get used to it._

After the end of Brienne’s story, it took Cersei a moment or two to react. Eventually, she fixed Brienne with her familiar smug smile and started patronisingly slow clapping, like this was all happening on Twitter. “Oh excellent, Sergeant Tarth,” she smirked, “what a great story. Unfortunately for you, you don’t have any proof.”

“I do,” grinned Brienne, knowing how to catch her hook, line, and sinker. “When I chased the suspect from the scene of Lancel Lannister’s murder, they cut themselves on a piece of broken glass. The suspect will therefore have a fresh cut on their leg.”

She leant forward grabbing Cersei’s right foot. The woman gave out a shocked squeak as Brienne pulled up the leg of her pantsuit.

Nothing.

She tried the other one.

Nothing again.

Looking down at Cersei’s perfectly smooth ankles, Brienne suddenly saw all her theories fall away.

“Oh, Sergeant Tarth,” laughed Cersei, shaking Brienne off her. “This is getting embarrassing. Apart from the fact I have no way of faking a car accident nor dislodging a fat chunk of masonry from the church roof, I’ve been at _Lannisters_ all week. I am sure the store’s CCTV will exonerate me.”

She clicked her fingers and the Mountain went to the monitor, scanning very quickly through the footage from the last week. Even at that speed, Brienne could tell that Cersei rarely left the store. Brienne drew close, pausing it and fast-forwarding it until she got to the correct frames for when she had faced off Lancel’s murderer in _Primavera_. And there was Cersei on the CCTV, smiling and laughing with a small child.

Brienne stepped back. She didn’t know what to think. How was this possible when it all fit so well? Scrabbling around for words to fill in the gaps, she found Cersei beat her to it.

“I must say, Sergeant Tarth, I am disappointed. For someone who has such a violent grudge against me, I thought you could have come up with something better.”

That raised some whispers in the room.

“Grudge against you?” spat Brienne, coming to her senses. “Why would I have a grudge against you?”

Cersei smiled in a way that made her teeth look like fangs. “Because I walked in on your little attempt to seduce my brother and told you in no uncertain terms that I think he is way out of your league.” Cersei seemed to take pleasure in causing pain, because she laughed even as Brienne’s heart plummeted through the floor. “You hate me because you know I’m right, and yet you still want him. It’s all rather pathetic really.”

That brought a thudding, deadening silence to the room that seemed to go on for decades. Brienne felt all her colleagues’ eyes on her, but most of all she sensed Jaime behind her, shuffling his feet nervously. Brienne wanted the ground to swallow her up. She barely knew how to deal with these feelings herself, let alone have Cersei rake them up and turn them into something dirty and unseemly.

“Fine,” said Brienne, trying to suppress a growl. “I was wrong. I apologise.”

“I want more than that, Tarth,” she snarled, “I want your head.” At that, the Mountain gave a nasty crunch of his knuckles. Cersei turned to her father. “But before the beheading, I want to make an official complaint.”

Tywin’s eyes were emotionless. “An official complaint?”

“Yes,” said Cersei. “Tarth’s attempt to arrest me was based on nothing more than a grudge and jealousy. I want something done about it.”

Everything was crumbling before Brienne’s eyes. Cersei was innocent, and now wanted Brienne punished for thinking she was guilty. Without Cersei’s motive, the deaths suddenly became disconnected and disparate again. The map collapsed. Then there was Jaime; Cersei had just reminded him of how far out of Brienne’s league he was. And to top it all off, the revelation of her own inadequacy now perched awkwardly on the fact that Brienne had broken Jaime’s heart and had just accused his twin sister of murder.

 _I’ve lost him forever,_ Brienne thought. _And it’s entirely my fault._

The only small piece of luck coming Brienne's way was that Tywin was not happy with having the torture stretch on much longer. Sensing the tension in the room, he took control. “Cersei, perhaps it is best if we discuss this privately, eh? Why don’t we have a cup of tea and talk it through.” He stretched a hand out to his only daughter, helping her up from her chair. She gave him a smile of filial devotion.

Tywin then turned to the team. “Officers. Go back to the station. I will talk to you all about this tomorrow. I’ll try and smooth over as much as possible. Just stay at the station and respond to any calls we may have.”

* * *

 

When Brienne got in the car with Margaery, she buried her head in her hands.

“Oh, babe,” said Margaery consolingly, rubbing her back. “I know you were only trying to do what you thought was right.”

“I’ve ruined _everything_ ,” said Brienne, the tears coming. “Not only have I made everyone think I’m absolutely crazy, I’ve fucked it up royally with Jaime.”

Margaery didn’t really have any reply to that, because she knew it was true. She dug around in her handbag and found a pack of tissues, which Brienne accepted gratefully. “I’ll take the long route back to the station,” said Margaery, “to give you a bit of time.”

 _A bit of time_ only turned out to be fifteen minutes, so Brienne did not feel as if she had cried all the tears she needed to. She’d probably need the rest of her life for that.

“Come on, Brienne,” said Margaery gently as they parked outside the station. “Chin up. You have to face the music sometime. And it’s better to do it looking like a badass bitch than a blubbering wreck.”

When they got back to the staff room, Brienne just wanted to curl up into a ball and die. She just about managed to beat back the tears; she didn’t want to cry in front of the Robbs, and especially not Jaime, but she could still feel them pricking behind her eyes. If she did cry, it would probably just prove to Jaime once and for all how pathetic she was. The only way to keep her sanity was to follow Margaery to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

However, her plan was foiled when she felt a familiar hand on her elbow.

“No, Jaime,” said Brienne, sniffling. “Now is really not the time.”

_Not now I’ve ruined things forever._

“Now is the perfect time,” he insisted harshly, squeezing her elbow tighter and pulling her in the direction of Tywin’s office. She was going to try and extricate herself, but then Margaery gave her a little nod, and Brienne let herself be led away. They walked past the rest of the team – Jon, the Robbs, the Hound, and Ilyn – and every single one of them gave Brienne a pointed look. She didn’t know what it meant.

Once they were inside the office, Jaime slammed the door, locked it tight, and turned around to face her. “A Japanese Peace lily,” he said, looking at her incredulously. “You got me a _Japanese fucking Peace lily_?”

Brienne had not been expecting that, but she at least had the good grace to look somewhat embarrassed as she walked over in the direction of Tywin’s desk. “And a box of chocolates, a heart shaped biscuit… and a singing otter. I wanted to give them to you, but they’ve all been impounded as evidence.”

He looked half way between desperation and confusion. “Why did you think I wanted a singing otter?”

“You looked upset, and I wanted to make things right…”

“Upset?” he said, his melancholy breaking as he let out a bitter laugh, “I think the words you are looking for are _fucking heartbroken_ , wench. You called me a liar when I told you I love you, and then attempted to arrest my twin sister for murder without warning me. How else am I meant to feel?”

Brienne was familiar with self-loathing, but she had never hated herself more than she did in that moment. “Oh, Jaime,” she said, wringing her hands. “I don’t think you are a liar. I was angry and confused because you were in the pub with Taena. I thought you were together.”

He shook his head furiously before he tried to speak, his voice cracking. “She messaged me saying she wanted to give it another go. We were a thing once, so I felt I owed it to her to tell her _no_ to her face.” He was now looking at her with those big green eyes of his, sad and desperate. “How could you think I want to be with her after all that has happened between us? How could I want her when I love you?”

Brienne felt herself tensing up, scared of this unfamiliar situation. “But you don’t want to be with me,” she said, filling in the blanks. “Not after today. I tried to arrest your sister; I didn’t tell you what I was planning. How could you want someone who did that?”

Jaime let out a mirthless laugh. “I know my sister, but I also know _you_. I know you are a fucking good police officer and if you suspected Cersei, you would have had your reasons for it. If you’d have told me your plan I would have been upset, yes, because she’s my twin, but I would have also done my utmost to make sure proper procedure was followed. I would have understood if you had given me the explanation you gave her in the shop, even though it turned out to be wrong. What does hurt though is that you didn’t spare my feelings – you told my father what you were going to do, but you didn’t tell me.”

She tried to find the words. “I’m sorry Jaime, I just…” They abandoned her.

Jaime was not having any of her protracted mumbling and started pacing around, his hands on his hips. “Can you please tell me what I have done?” he said, barely able to get his words out, “what have I done to make you hate me so much?”

That was like a punch to the gut.

“I don’t hate you,” implored Brienne, shock dripping out of every word.

“Then why does it feel like you do?” The sight of him made her want to cry. He looked so sad and lovely and hurt that it was all Brienne could do to stop herself gathering him in her arms and stroking his hair.

“I don’t hate you in the slightest,” she said, tears welling. “My feelings for you are the total opposite of hate. It’s just… we can’t… it wouldn’t work… not after today…”

“Why not?” he said, suddenly forceful, stepping towards her, fire in his eyes. “I love you, Brienne, you might not like to hear that, it might make you uncomfortable, but it is the truth. _I am in love with you._ I don’t care what anybody else thinks. The night of the drinks reception wasn’t just meaningless sex for me. I wanted it to be the start of something. For so long I’ve dreamt that you’d turn around and look at me how you looked at Renly at Margaery’s party, and what happened between us was just my stupid way of saying it.”

“Jaime,” she said, her heart breaking for every single scrap of pain she had ever put him through. “You mean so much more to me than Renly ever did. That was a stupid crush. What we have… it’s…” She couldn’t quite bring herself to say it. He put his hand on her shoulder as he drew near, and she knew her resistance was not going to hold for much longer.

“Please, Brienne,” he whispered. “Tell me.”

_I love you, more than anything._

“I’m not good enough for you, Jaime,” she said quietly, almost so he couldn’t hear her. “You are smart, and kind, and handsome, and you lost your hand for someone you barely knew. I’m… none of those things. I’m ugly and tall and unattractive, ungainly and masculine. Men don’t like me in that way; they’ve laughed at me for even entertaining the thought that someone could want me romantically. When they’re not laughing, I’m invisible. It’s got nothing to do with you – you are amazing and wonderful and everything I’ve ever dreamt of – but I can’t give you what you want because I’m not what you think I am.” She took a deep breath. “I’m unlovable – that’s all I’ve ever been told – and you should be with someone more deserving of your affections than me.”

Jaime looked at her with those big green eyes and she could see him wheeling through a hundred different emotions; realisation, confusion, sadness, relief and then…

“Don’t you ever say that again,” he said, bounding forward, pulling her face towards him, kissing her cheeks repeatedly. “Do you hear me? _Ever_. Because it’s not true, and you’re just invalidating my feelings when you say it. You are not unlovable because _I_ love you. I love you… I love you… I love you…” He collapsed into kissing her, his words falling to silence as he rained down kisses on her cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids and eventually her lips. “You are brave, and smart, and funny, and sexy, and kind, and I love you so much. It breaks my heart to hear you talk like that.”

“Jaime…” she said, trying to explain, trying to justify everything.

“No,” he insisted, looking deep into her eyes. “I am not going to let you pull away from me and tear us apart because of some bullshit that only exists in your head. This is not about who deserves who, because otherwise nobody would ever get together and the human race would have died out years ago. I feel like I don’t deserve you sometimes, because you are fierce and brave and have the whole world ahead of you, and I’m just some one-handed police officer with a borderline alcohol problem. But you can still have me if you want me, even though I am not perfect. Nobody is.”

“But Connington said…”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Who gives a crap what Connington said? He was a nasty arsehole who tried to make you feel small. Whose opinion do you respect more – his or mine?”

There was no question. “Yours.”

“Then listen to _me_ ,” Jaime said. “You may not be perfect – neither am I – but I still want to love you, I want to _be_ in love with you, I want to be _with_ you, you total badass goddess.” He paused, catching his breath. “And if you love me… let me love you.”

He burned so brightly with sincerity that there was nothing more to say or do but agree. Reacting instantly, Brienne threw her arms around him and pulled him close, feeling him relax into her the same way he had done after they had watched _Romeo and Juliet_ so long ago. She buried her head in his shoulder, dragging her hand through his hair, taking in the raw masculine smell of him that drove her wild. He quickly reciprocated, running his hand up and down her back in a way that was both comforting and close.

“I’m so sorry I’ve been an idiot,” she mumbled, her mouth pressed on his shirt, somewhere close to his clavicle.

“An oblivious idiot,” Jaime added, “a blind idiot. A total moron of an idiot.”

“Alright,” she tutted, drawing back, smiling. “I thought you were busy telling me you loved me a moment ago.”

He returned her grin. “I do love you, you oblivious, blind, total moron of an idiot who was never aware of every time I tried to pour out my heart to you.”

She found herself laughing through her tears. “I just thought…”

“What?”

Brienne sighed, “I don’t know. I just thought if you loved me, you would have tried to woo me a bit, you know, not just ask me for sex.”

Jaime’s incredulous stare was so profound that Brienne was scared his eyes would pop out of his head. He let go of her, taking a step back, overcome by shock. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK I HAVE BEEN DOING, WOMAN?” he shouted. “I’VE ASKED YOU OUT SO MANY TIMES I’VE LOST COUNT! I NEARLY BEAT UP AN OLD MAN FOR CALLING YOU UGLY! I ASKED YOU TO DANCE WHEN YOU GOT TURNED DOWN BY THE WORLD’S MOST OBVIOUSLY GAY MAN, AND YOU TRAMPLED ON MY HEART LIKE AN ELEPHANT FOR THE TROUBLE! I LITERALLY SAID, “PARTING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW” TO YOU AFTER WE LEFT A PERFORMANCE OF ROMEO AND FUCKING JULIET. I BOUGHT YOU A BLOODY HEART SHAPED BISCUIT THAT YOU SMASHED INTO PIECES AS YOU ATE IT OBLIVIOUSLY!”

Brienne tried to interrupt, but he hadn’t finished.

“I NEARLY CUT MY OWN HAND OFF TRYING TO MAKE YOU DINNER ON OUT FIRST DATE, AND THEN I AGREED TO WATCH _THE NOTEBOOK_ WITH YOU, ALL IN THE HOPE THAT YOU MIGHT JUST GRAB ME AND KISS ME. I GOT YOU A CRANBERRY MOJITO BECAUSE I KNEW YOU LIKED CRANBERRIES AND THAT WITHOUT IT, YOU’D BE TOO NERVOUS TO DANCE WITH ME! I TURNED DOWN A HANDJOB ON OUR ONE AND ONLY NIGHT TOGETHER IN ORDER TO EAT YOU OUT, AND I FUCKING LOVED IT. WHAT. MORE. DO. YOU. WANT. FROM. ME?”

_Oh._

Now she came to think about it, perhaps, from his perspective at least, he’d been trying to get her to like him for a very long time. Her surprise obviously showed, because when he spoke next, there was a smile on his face.

“Are you honestly trying to tell me you didn’t notice?”

Brienne felt the flames of embarrassment lick at her cheeks, and she knew she was going bright red. She had never felt more ridiculous, stupid, oblivious, or innocent before in her life. Embracing that complex mix of emotions that made her sick to her stomach, she eventually managed to spit out one more of the shameful truths she’d been hiding about herself. “Jaime… I’ve never had a proper relationship before. I don’t know what I’m doing. I thought it would have been more obvious; flowers or something.”

He marched over to his father’s desk where the vase of daffodils sat. Pulling out the bunch of wet flowers, he walked back to her and shoved them in her hands. “Consider yourself wooed. I love you, wench.”

That made her burst into tears again.

“Oh god, don’t cry,” he said, stepping forward and resting his forehead against hers. “It’s not such a terrible thing to be loved by me, is it?”

“It’s the most wonderful thing in the world,” she said, through a series of snorts. Even though she was a crying, weeping, snotty mess, he kissed her furiously, pushing her back until she collided with Tywin’s desk. Wanting him, she shuffled herself up onto the desk and parted her thighs, and he quickly occupied the space. It wasn’t enough, so she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, determined to envelop him in her body so he would know how she felt, dropping the daffodils as she went. He responded enthusiastically, pressing his hard chest against her breasts, tilting her backwards, while she cupped his beautiful face in her hands. They kissed in a way that was just emblematic of how long they had been waiting – with tongues and teeth and saliva and a mismatched rhythm – but Brienne thought it was the sweetest and most romantic thing ever. As she grasped at him, she could feel him getting hard, so she pulled away slightly.

“Jaime…” she whispered. “We’re in your father’s office.”

“I know, wench,” he murmured, a wicked grin on his face, “that’s why I locked the door.”

“I’m not going to shag you in the station, we’re at work,” she insisted, amazed by his enthusiasm.

“Why not?” he chuckled. “You need to learn to live a little.” He ground his growing erection against her, and it made her think of acquiescing. Remembering where she was, she pushed him away, laughing.

“Not now,” she said, “but soon.”

He beamed at her, kissing the back of her right hand. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

Jaime drew close to her once more, but this time just pressed a light, chaste kiss to her lips, before pulling away and sitting next to her on the desk. “We can work this out, Brienne. Together.” She knew they could – he was just so willing to put up with her idiocy – but there was still a tiny, tiny piece of her resisting.

“People will say there are loads of reasons we can’t be a couple.”

“Name one,” he said softly, taking her hand.

“You are my partner. We won’t be able to concentrate if we have to do patrols together.”

He laughed throatily. “I could never concentrate when I was on patrol with you anyway, wench. And besides, we could stay swapped with Margaery and the Hound. I’d even let you keep Margaery. I would happily stay stuck inside a car all day with Joff and the Hound if it meant that at night, I could come home to you.”

Teasing him, she tried something else. “I’m taller than you. It looks weird.”

“Who cares?” said Jaime. “I don’t. Actually, I quite like it – it will make it easier for me to be the little spoon sometimes. And if it really bothers you that I’m a short-arse, I’ll stand on a box when we kiss.”

Then the truth came. “I’ve hurt you so badly. I don’t think I can ever forgive myself.”

He squeezed her fingers. “You only need my forgiveness, and you’ll be amazed by my capacity for it.” His smile grew predatorial. “And I can think of _plenty_ of ways you can make it up to me.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he purred. “Most of them involve us getting naked in compromising positions.”

The thought of making love to Jaime again banished any lingering doubts she had, and suddenly it was her turn to kiss him and persuade him and cajole him. Wanting him to feel how tender she felt towards him, she put one hand on his left cheek, which he cupped with his hand. “You are the most wonderful person I have ever met,” said Brienne, amazed that it had all come to this.

He just smiled at her, glowing with sunlight. “Be my girlfriend,” he said, achingly beautiful in his happiness. “We just fit together. Say _yes_.”

“I want to,” she said, her fingers brushing his cheek, “more than anything. But…”

His face fell.

“It’s not a bad thing,” she reassured him, running her thumb across his cheekbone. “There’s just something I need to do first. Can you wait until tomorrow? I’ll say yes first thing in the morning.”

He looked a little disappointed, but then he said, “I’ve been waiting since the NWA Party. I think I can wait twelve hours.”

“The NWA Party?” she said incredulously. Back then, she had still hated his guts. “But you said I was dressed like a Soviet nuclear physicist from the mid-1980s.”

He shrugged. “I should have prefaced that with _the world’s sexiest_ Soviet nuclear physicist from the mid-1980s.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, and kissed him to make sure.

* * *

 

When they eventually went to leave Tywin’s office, Brienne couldn’t believe it. She and Jaime were on the road to mending this disaster of her making. He had told her how much she had hurt him, and she had kissed him again and again, begging his forgiveness.

“Never do it again,” he said, “I don’t think I could bear it.”

“Never,” she said, running a line of kisses along his jaw. “Never, never, never. I’m yours for as long as you want me.”

She knew it would take time for them to work this out; she was still insecure, he still reeling from the pain she had inflicted, but they were both willing to try. It seemed too much, but somehow, they had both agreed they would find a way.

Eventually, they went to the door of the office and unlocked it, ready to face the world again. Brienne was not expecting to see all her colleagues on the other side. They jumped when the door suddenly swung open.

“What the fuck are you doing?” said Jaime, looking from one face to the other in confusion.

Margaery had gone very red. “We … errr… we’re just… um…” A light bulb then turned on in Margaery’s head and she pointed at the door. “We’re all just wondering if Tywin’s name had been spelt wrong on his sign… I thought ‘Lannister’ only had one ‘n’.”

The Hound nodded. “I thought it had three. One was silent.”

“I thought it had five, myself,” said Jon earnestly.

They all turned to look at Jon, whose big grey eyes betrayed his confusion. Jaime raised an eyebrow. “So, you seriously thought my name is Jaime Lannnnnister, did you Jon? And that’s why you are all, collectively, standing outside my father’s office? Just to check?”

“I know nothing,” said Jon, shrugging nervously.

Robb Stark smirked. “Well, you now know at least one thing, Jon. It’s been shouted around the station enough; Lannister is the world’s biggest fan of cunnilingus.”

As Jaime went the most brilliant red, Margaery leant across and whacked Robb. “Shut up! Why do you have to ruin a beautiful moment?” She then turned back to Brienne. “We weren’t listening, or eavesdropping, I promise. You just were… discussing things very loudly.”

Brienne joined Jaime in going the colour of a strawberry. “It’s fine, Margaery,” she said, hoping it would make their colleagues disperse. Eventually, Ilyn let out a throaty sound that appeared to be a chuckle and moved away, with the Hound and Joff following. The Robbs walked off too, still laughing at Stark’s laddish joke. Margaery took Jon firmly in hand and marched him away too.

Once they were all gone, Brienne turned to Jaime, kissing his cheek in an attempt to stem his embarrassment. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she said quietly. “You are very talented with your tongue.” She meant it to be reassuring, but it instantly sounded dirty.

His mouth curled into a mocking smile. “Oh, _am I_?”

She smiled. “I suppose I’ll let you get big headed about it just this once.”

Jaime curled an arm around her waist. “It’s in your interest too,” he purred. “Come, wench. Let’s actually do some work today.”

They went over to Jaime’s desk, where he apparently had lots of speeding tickets to process. He sat down on his chair and Brienne suddenly found herself sitting on his lap.

“But wench!” he said in faux shock, “we’re at work!”

“This is acceptable, just this once,” she said haughtily, taking his arms and wrapping them around her waist. “I’ll fill out your speeding tickets for you. You just rest your head on my shoulder and look pretty.”

He let out a little sigh as he did just that.

In the end, she ended up doing more than just the speeding tickets for him – she organised his diary, and put 2876 unnecessary emails in the trash, all while sitting on his lap. Jaime just held her and kissed her every place he could reach.

“Oh god,” groaned the Hound. “Is this what it’s going to be like every day from now on? Are we really going to have to see you two at it in the staff room?”

Jaime chucked a pen at him playfully. “Give me this moment, especially as my father’s not here. We promise we’ll be as chaste as monks from tomorrow, don’t we wench?”

Brienne laughed. “You can promise that if you want. You can’t hold me to anything.”

It went from being one of the worst days of her life to the best in a moment. After work, they did what they used to do; they went to _The Inn at the Crossroads_ , found a booth and held hands. Whereas previously Brienne had been a melting mess of questions, now she kissed him with certainty, and they laughed and talked more easily than she ever had with anyone. Before Jaime, Brienne would have never believed it was possible to be this happy.

She almost didn’t care there was a murdering maniac on the loose.

They left the pub at eleven when Masha kicked them out, and Jaime walked her home, holding her hand. When they arrived at Brienne’s flat, it took a long time for her to say goodbye to him. They would kiss and then he’d turn to leave, before something would pull them back together again. It was only when it got so dark and cold that Jaime joked he was going to get frostbite, that they were finally able to make the decisive break.

“Goodnight Brienne.”

“Goodnight Jaime.”

Then they laughed and he kissed her, and she kissed him, repeating the process.

“Are you sure I can’t come in?” he asked imploringly. “I can show you how talented I am with my tongue again.”

She laughed. “Tomorrow. There’s something I’ve got to do first.”

He smiled at her sadly, so she kissed him furiously to show him this wasn’t her pushing him away again.

When they broke apart, he nodded. “Okay, wench. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As he walked down the road, he kept turning to wave at her.

She stood at the door watching him until he had totally disappeared from sight.

 _Tomorrow, Jaime,_ Brienne thought. _Our life together begins tomorrow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... ahhhhhh. I hope you enjoyed that! Please let me know what you think with a lovely comment or kudos!
> 
> Yes, I ripped that opening scene straight from the film - but I love it too much not too!
> 
> Once again, comments and kudos are great! I love it!
> 
> Next chapter... As Brienne prepares for her life with Jaime, she gets an unexpected visitor in the middle of the night...


	21. Secrets and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After reuniting with Jaime, Brienne gets an unexpected visitor late at night...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Here is the next chapter! Once again, I am overwhelmed and amazed by the comments and kudos. Keep them coming! They make me so happy.
> 
> Once again, please read the archive warnings for this chapter.

After she closed the door of her flat, Brienne dropped to the floor and started laughing with sheer joy. She couldn’t believe this was possible; she loved Jaime and he loved her back, and they were trying to make it work, even after everything. Her phone buzzed.

_Jaime:_           I <3 U xxx

She was going to explode with happiness.

_Brienne:_         I <3 U 2 xxxxx

There was a thirty second pause before she got another message.

_Jaime:_            We are so gross.

_Brienne:_         So disgustingly awful.

_Brienne:_         Even everyone who was part of the “Operation Get Jaime and Brienne into a Loving and Committed Long Term Relationship Group Chat” is going to be sick of us by tomorrow.

There was another pause after that message, and the three dots that told her he was typing made her heart beat.

_Jaime:_            You knew about the GROUP CHAT???

Brienne laughed.

_Brienne:_         LOL yes, I bullied Margaery into showing me.

He sent her the little embarrassed looking emoji with the red cheeks.

Laughing to herself, Brienne did something she thought he might appreciate. Going to the top of their chat, she changed its name.

**NAME CHANGED by Brienne Tarth:**

**Jaime and Brienne are in a Loving and Committed Long Term Relationship Group Chat**

**Participants:** Jaime Lannister (Administrator), Brienne Tarth (Administrator)

_Brienne:_         I know I technically haven’t said yes yet, but I’m just getting prepared.

Jaime just sent her a series of crying emojis and hearts.

That just made her even more determined to do what she had to do. After telling him that she was going to bed in a stream of gushy messages, she put her phone in her pocket before walking over to her mirror. She’d looked into it a thousand times before, most of the time just to beat herself up about how awful she looked, muttering things to herself that Connington had said vindictively or Hyle had mentioned offhandedly in the past.

Now she looked at it differently. Brienne stared in the mirror, trying to see what she couldn’t.

Jaime Lannister was in love with _this_? She couldn’t understand it. He’d slept with Senelle, gone out with Pia, and had a relationship with Taena, and all three women were much more beautiful and captivating than she could ever hope to be. What did she have but tree trunks for legs, crooked teeth, a flat chest, and mannish shoulders? She squinted at the mirror, trying to imagine what Jaime had seen the night they slept together. When she had first been totally naked in front of him, she had been so nervous that he had stopped kissing her for a moment and started running his hand up and down each leg in turn, rubbing the muscles to release the tension she was clinging to.

“I want you to relax,” he had said. “I want to make this feel good for you.”

He then started to follow his fingers with his lips, and he mumbled against her skin. “You’ve got such _long_ legs.”

These were the same crooked teeth that he had skimmed his tongue along, the same flat chest he had taken so much pleasure in touching, nuzzling, and kissing, the same shoulders he had sucked love bites into. It all seemed so incredible that he thought she deserved that.

She shook her head. _No. I won’t let myself do this._

_I want to be Jaime’s Brienne,_ she thought. _I want to see what he sees._

_I want to understand why he loves me._

To try and find the answer, she thought about Jaime. What did she love about him? Did she love Jaime for his golden hair or his green eyes or his crazy sense of humour? No, it wasn’t any one thing. She just loved _him_.

And then it clicked. He didn’t love her messy hair, or her blue eyes, or her crooked teeth, in the same way that she didn’t love his golden hair, his green eyes, or his annoyingly straight teeth. He loved all of her, and she couldn’t be broken down into parts, just like he couldn’t. And part of the appeal was not just him but her. He was right; they fit together. Where she was neat, he was messy. Where she was ruthlessly logical, he was romantic and sentimental. Where she was rigid and stuck to plans, he was spontaneous. When she was by the book, he was unconventional. It was a match made in heaven, and she was determined that she wasn’t going to fuck this up. And she knew what was holding them back.

Jaime’s words from their date came back to her: _Connington will continue to hurt you as long as you keep that ring. Throw it away. It’s nothing but a bad memory, and it’s not worth wasting your time on when you could be making good memories instead._

She went to her bedside cabinet; Galladon’s teddy bear was in there, along with the ring. Whereas the former reminded her of good times with her lost brother, the latter only served as a constant drag on her feelings about herself. Why had she let Connington rule her for so long? Picking up the ring, she walked over to her window, opening it hurriedly.

“Screw you, Connington!” she yelled as she pulled her arm back, projecting the ring into the street with an athletic flourish.

“AHHH! Crap! What was that?”

Looking around, she suddenly saw Podrick Payne on the pavement, having just been conked on the head by a swiftly moving ring, just trying to go home from his late shift.

“Sorry Pod!” called Brienne, panicked. “Are you alright? I was just throwing something out of the window.”

He stooped to the ground, picking up the ring, examining it. “Do you want it back?”

“No,” she said firmly. “Never. Goodnight!”

After rubbing his head one more time, Pod gave her a little wave and went back to walking down the road. Closing the window, Brienne couldn’t help but think this was a new chapter. To make it official, she decided to look up some local therapists who specialised in self-esteem issues. For years a little nagging voice in her head had told her she needed to talk to someone, but it had never seemed worth it before. Now, she wanted to make it as easy as possible for Jaime to love her and, even though she knew it would be hard, unpicking every dark thought about herself in the safety of a therapist’s chair was much more preferable than loading it all on the man she loved.

She had just located an interesting candidate – a Doctor Aemon who lived in Lannisport – when there was a knock at the door. She looked at her watch; it was quarter to twelve, much too late for a house call. The police officer part of her instructed her to pick up something heavy, just in case, so she went for the fruit bowl.

“Who’s there?” she called.

“It’s me!” came a girl’s voice.

Putting down the fruit bowl and opening the door, Brienne was surprised to find Arya Stark standing there, a look of panic on her face.

“Arya?” said Brienne, struggling to keep her astonishment at bay, “what are you…?”

Arya bundled into Brienne’s flat with such speed that Brienne left the front door open as she turned to follow her. The girl looked very distressed; her cheeks were red from crying and her eyes were wide with panic.

“Gendry has gone,” she gasped, her voice wavering.

Brienne stared at her, not quite understanding. “What do you mean Gendry’s gone?”

“After the chats we’ve been having, Gendry got it into his thick skull that all these murders were about him. He thought if he had pushed harder to be recognised as Robert’s son, everything we know about Cersei would have come to light sooner and Cersei wouldn’t have killed all those people.”

It was such a stupid, counterfactual assumption that there was nothing Brienne could do but shake her head. “It’s not about him. In fact, it’s not got _anything_ to do with that at all.” She tried to keep her sadness and embarrassment out of her voice, but it was difficult. “I tried to arrest Cersei today. She was innocent – she didn’t have the cut on her leg. _Lannisters_ ’ CCTV exonerated her.”

Arya looked at her as if she had gone mad. “Do you really think that _Cersei Lannister_ would do her own dirty work? What if she broke a nail?” Arya began pacing back and forth. “No, this is _entirely_ about what we think it’s about; Cersei trying to cover up her affair with Lancel, and Robert’s murder. Nothing else makes sense. It’s just that she used someone else as the killer.”

Brienne had to agree. It had all fit together so perfectly that she was loathe to throw her theories away. “So, you think there’s two people involved?”

Arya threw her hands in the air. “Two, three, four, five… I don’t know! All I know is that Gendry’s gone to her.”

Brienne felt a bit stupid parroting Arya’s words back to her, but she still said, “gone to her?”

“He’s decided to take the DNA test and make a claim for a stake in _Baratheon Properties_ ,” said Arya desperately. “Given that Stannis and Renly are dead, he would be the sole owner, especially if he can prove that Tommen and Myrcella are not his siblings.” Then the panic came back to Arya’s face. “But he’s gone to Cersei first. He wanted to warn her of what he intended to do.”

Brienne looked at Arya incredulously. “Why?”

Arya shook her head. “Apparently it’s the honourable thing to do.”

“And the most stupid thing to do,” grumbled Brienne. “What does he hope to achieve?”

“I don’t know,” stammered Arya. “He just messaged me a few hours ago saying he was going to Casterly Rock. I was helping my brother Bran fix his wheelchair, so I only just got his message. What are we going to do? He could already be…”

_Dead._

“He’s not dead,” said Brienne forcefully. “We’ll find him… we’ll…”

There was a heavy creak behind them, far too loud to be Shadow, or the pipes, or the wind. In the seconds that followed, Brienne could have heard a pin drop.

“Brienne,” said Arya quietly. “Did you close the door?”

Brienne shook her head as the two women turned to face the source of the sound. Just inside the door stood an enormous hooded figure, his face obscured by a mask. Brienne barely had time to say, “oh shit” before he was charging towards her, his huge hands stretched out to catch her.

Frozen by shock, Brienne only realised what was happening when Arya let out a little scream as his finger encircled Brienne's throat. He was so strong that Brienne instantly found she was struggling to breathe, especially once he attempted to lift her off her feet. Desperately trying to resist, she aimed to dig her nails into his face, but couldn’t quite reach, and so could only bat at his arms.

However, he loosened his grip when Arya charged forward. Making an anime jump from the couch onto his back, she did what Brienne could not do and went for his eyes. As Arya’s fingers moved like daggers on his face, he let go of Brienne. He began to swing around violently, trying to get Arya off his back. Seven foot up in the air, Arya tried to grab hold of anything that would stop herself falling. Her hands fell on the mask, which came away quickly.

It was the Mountain.

He started blinking rapidly, trying to adjust to the new light. Not missing her chance, Brienne aimed a punch at his face. Although it missed by an inch, it made him jerk backwards, which finally shucked Arya off his back. She went crashing into the little coffee table by Brienne’s sofa. Once Arya had fallen, it gave the Mountain the room to backhand Brienne, and she flew back, landing violently against the wall.

Suddenly, Arya was back on her feet and was now throwing everything she could get her hands on at him; the fruit bowl, a picture of Brienne’s dad, the cuddly Pikachu Brienne had won at the fete. The Mountain batted every single one away. As Brienne tried to get up, a little groggy, she saw the flash of silver as the Mountain pulled a knife from his belt. With every passing second, he was drawing closer and closer to Arya.

“Hey!” yelled Brienne suddenly. “Pick on someone your own size!” Brienne was, in fact, nowhere near the Mountain’s size, but it was the only cliched line she could think of in the moment.

At that, the Mountain came at her with the knife. He plunged it down towards her several times, but Brienne managed to slip past him. The Mountain was strong and immovable, but she was quicker and more agile. After a couple more misaimed thrusts, Brienne could tell that the Mountain was tiring of this game, so when he lifted the knife once more Brienne took advantage of his exposed middle and rugby tackled him backwards.

He fell to the floor, and Arya was waiting for him with a massive Aloe Vera in a pot that Brienne kept for medicinal purposes. She brought it down onto his skull with a massive crack and he was instantly knocked out cold. The two women both stared down at the Mountain's prone form, checking for consciousness, before looking back up at each other.

“What do we do now?” asked Arya breathlessly. “Gendry’s in danger… Gendry’s…”

Before Brienne could give her an answer, however, a familiar voice pierced the air. “Gregor… Gregor… answer me.”

It was Cersei.

In a flash, Arya was down on her knees looking for the source of Cersei’s voice, and eventually found it in a walkie-talkie hidden in a pocket in the Mountain’s robe.

“Gregor? Gregor? Are you there? Gregor? Is everything okay?” Arya picked up the walkie-talkie, coughed nervously, then did her best impression of Cersei’s near mute henchman. “Yarp.”

Brienne could almost hear Cersei smiling. “Sergeant Tarth has been taken care of?”

“Yarp.”

“She’s not going to get back up again?”

Arya looked at Brienne in desperation. Brienne could only shrug her shoulders. After a few panicked seconds, Arya settled for “… narp?”

“Good,” said Cersei. “I’ll meet you at the usual spot beyond the water wells. Be as quick as possible.”

With that, Cersei stopped talking and Arya rested the walkie-talkie on the Mountain’s big belly.

“What are we going to do?” asked Arya desperately. “Cersei just sent someone to kill you… she’s probably got Gendry… what do we do now?”

Brienne could see the panic set to overwhelm Arya completely, so she took charge. “I think there’s only one thing for it,” said Brienne. “We’ll have to go to the water wells. Cersei will be there, and so might Gendry.” She paused. “Where are the water wells?”

“Just on the outskirts of town,” said Arya, looking a little relieved at finally having a focus. “During the medieval era, when there used to be a big monastery in the area, the monks had a series of underground water ways built to transport water in from a nearby lake. They’re abandoned now and blocked off to the public – they’re apparently dangerous – but I know a way we could try and get in.”

That was very suspicious. “I doubt they’re as dangerous as they’ve been made out to be, if Cersei is so willing to send her henchman down there… it might just be the way that her puppet has been able to travel about town murdering people without anyone noticing.”

Realising the gravity of the situation, Brienne searched around in her pocket, pulling her phone out.

“What are you doing?” said Arya, but Brienne didn’t answer. She typed a number in.

“You’ve reached Tywin Lannister. Please leave a message after the tone.” BEEP.

Annoyed that he hadn’t answered, she spilt what she knew anyway.

“Tywin! I was right! Cersei just sent someone to kill me, she’s now going somewhere. I think it’s the water wells. I’m going to follow… I’m sorry about all this, I just… It’s Brienne by the way.”

Once she had hung up, Arya was giving her a horrified look.

“Do you really think you should tell him?” asked Arya, nervously. “Shouldn’t we keep this between ourselves?”

“No,” said Brienne forcefully. “That’s what’s caused this mess in the first place; secrets and lies. It’s time we blew this thing wide open.”

* * *

 

Brienne was worried that someone would spot them in the street, but it was so late that even Pod had now returned home. Casterly was quiet, or so it seemed. Brienne and Arya didn’t really say anything to each other as they crossed the village; at least, nothing beyond what they should expect down in the water wells.

“I’ve never been down there,” insisted Arya, “they’ve been closed my whole life, but there is an entrance I know that is well hidden in that little bit of woods between Walder Frey and Meryn Trant’s farms. It’s only blocked off with some very rotten bits of wood. I’m sure we could get them off quite easily.”

Brienne hoped Arya was right.

It took them some time to get to the woods, but once they did, Arya easily located the entrance. Together, they pulled off the rotten wood and eventually revealed the narrow passage that descended into darkness.

“Do you know where this leads?” asked Brienne.

Arya shook her head. “No idea.”

That made Brienne’s decision easier. “Thank you for bringing me here, Arya, but this is probably as far as you should go. You should go back; it really isn’t safe down there.”

“I’m coming with you,” insisted Arya. “Who knows what you’ll find? You need all the help you can get. And I need to find my boyfriend.”

Brienne thought to object, but seeing the look in the girl’s eye, she knew there was no stopping her. Also, there was a part of Brienne that appreciated that someone wanted to follow her into the darkness. The two women turned the torches on their phones on as they descended a few feet into the tunnel, the moonlight not being enough to illuminate their path. The water wells had clearly not been used for anything in hundreds of years; there were rotten pipes, and paths branching off that were too small to crawl through. Brienne knew she never wanted to drink any water that came from here. The whole place was pervaded by a dank, rotten smell that indicated it had been locked away for years.

And underneath… there was the smell of something worse. The smell of death.

“Are they… bones?” asked Arya as they descended further into the tunnel, pointing at the flecks of white scattered on the floor.

Brienne couldn’t deny it. “Yes, but maybe they are animal bones.” She was trying to be positive for Arya, but only a small part of her brain believed it. Brienne had worked with forensics long enough to know that some of these were human.

The tiny piece of hope that existed in Brienne’s heart was entirely crushed when they located a full scale skeleton further down the passage. He was propped up against the wall, his mouth open in what looked like a scream. It would have been impossible to tell who he was if he hadn’t been wearing a Casterly Constabulary uniform. Arya dropped to her knees, picking up the badge that hung from his belt.

“Dad?”

Brienne felt sick. Was this skeleton honestly Sargeant Stark? Brienne could only watch as Arya searched the pockets and found his identity badge. Every emotion it was possible to feel seemed to be clouding Arya’s face in a moment; horror, sadness, rage, confusion, grief, disbelief. In an attempt to comfort her, Brienne knelt down beside her and put a hand round her shoulder.

“Brienne…” said Arya, her voice small. “That’s my _dad_.”

Brienne struggled to find the words. “I know… I’m sorry. There was always a chance that we would find him.”

“I’ll kill her,” spat Arya, grasping the badge in her hands. “I’ll rip that bitch’s stupid face off. Her and anyone who has helped her. They’re on my list.”

She could understand Arya’s desire to rip down everyone who had done these terrible things, but the police officer within Brienne took over. “We don’t want vengeance,” she said gently. “We want justice; for your father, for Robert, for Renly and Loras, for Beric, for Stannis and Melisandre…”

A little way further up the passage, Brienne concluded “…and Lommy”, when they found his body curled up next to a wall. His blond hair was dirty and mattered, and there was a nasty hole in his throat. The sight of her friend so soon after her father eventually caused Arya to swear.

“Fuck these sick bastards. What is going on? Why would they do this to my dad and Lommy? Why would they…?”

The moment of grief was suddenly shattered by a voice. “Hey? Is someone there? Help me! Please!”

Arya dropped her words and was running after the voice in a moment, and Brienne had to catch up to follow. They went around a corner into a little alcove off the main route to find Gendry tied up in the dark. His face was bruised and bloodied, but he wasn’t dead.

“Gendry!” cried Arya, her voice cracking with relief. “You’re alive!”

“Just about,” he groaned, as Arya smashed her lips against his face in a torrent of relieved kisses.

“You stupid idiot!” said Arya, shaking him. “You could have died!”

“I nearly did,” he complained, “they only got distracted because Cersei said that her henchman had just arrived at Sergeant Tarth’s.”

Brienne knew how the rest of the story went from there, but there was one thing in Gendry’s statement that intrigued her.

“ _They?”_ asked Brienne. “Who are _they_?”

Gendry only managed to shrug because Arya had untied some of the ropes binding him. “I don’t know. They were all wearing masks and had black cloaks on.”

“How many were there?”

“I don’t know,” he said again, as Arya finally freed him. “I arrived at Casterly Rock and said I wanted to see Cersei. The Mountain then led me through to this little study where she was waiting… it’s a bit blurry, but I think I told her my plan… and then suddenly there were these people all in black. They grabbed me and one of them hit me over the head. When I woke up, I was here. I decided it was best to play dead, so I closed my eyes. I could hear Cersei talking to someone, and then she mentioned you, Sergeant Tarth, and dashed off. She hasn’t been back since.”

Brienne nodded, just as Arya helped Gendry to his feet. “Arya,” Brienne said, knowing what had to be done. “Thank you for everything, but I think it’s best you get out of here.”

“Brienne, I…”

She decided to play the card that would motivate Arya the best. “Gendry is _hurt_. You need to take him to the hospital. And someone needs to know the truth in case… in case I don’t come back.”

“But you can’t go alone. Who knows how many people Cersei has helping her?” said Arya, her voice filled with concern.

“I won’t be alone,” said Brienne simply. “My signal is dead in here, but you can go and get Jaime. He’ll help me. Where’s your phone?”

Arya handed it over and Brienne typed his address in on Google Maps.

“We’ll go there first,” insisted Gendry. “Once we’ve sent him to you, maybe Arya and I can stay at his and call an ambulance.”

It sounded like a good plan, so Brienne agreed. “Go now. We don’t have much time.”

Gendry nodded. “Good luck, Sergeant Tarth.”

“Thank you.”

Even as Gendry was trying to pull her away, Arya’s eyes were fixed on Brienne. The words that came out of Arya’s mouth next shocked her. “Are you sure we can we trust PC Lannister?”

The answer was easy. “I wouldn’t trust anyone more in the entire world,” said Brienne truthfully.

That seemed to soothe Arya somewhat, so she said, “thank you... for everything. And good luck.”

Brienne smiled sadly. Arya Stark was one of the bravest people she had ever met. “You too, Arya,” she said. “I’ll see you when this is all over. We will find justice.”

And with that, Arya and Gendry began to make their way back up the way they came. Brienne watched them until all she could see of them was the glow of Arya’s phone.

_Good luck, Arya,_ thought Brienne. _This is all on you if I… if I…_

And then that was it; Brienne was finally alone in the water wells. Once Arya and Gendry disappeared from sight, she turned back towards her destination. Taking one step at a time, she tried to stop her heart from hammering. This was it – she was going to discover Casterly’s secret.

For the rest of her journey, Brienne had been hoping not to find any more horrors; however, she was disappointed. Further up the water well she found two bodies she was not expecting: Davos Seaworth and Salladhor Saan. A few minutes later she found Dontos Hollard face down on the ground. She thought back to those cases. In the end, neither had led to prosecution as Tywin had managed to talk down Masha and had let Dontos off with a slapped wrist. What were they doing down here? What was going on?

_Arya,_ she mentally pleaded, _please be quick. I need Jaime…_

Using the light from her phone, she followed the path for as long as it went, until eventually it opened up and led her back to the surface. It took her a moment to adjust to the new light conditions, but once she had, Brienne recognised where she was immediately.

She was in the grounds of Casterly Rock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope you enjoyed that chapter! Not much Jaime, but I have loved developing Brienne and Arya as a pair. Let me know what you think of them, or anything else (including Braime and the mysteries of Casterly) in a lovely comment (or kudos)!
> 
> And yes, most of this was a reimagining of the Nicholas/Lurch fight! The water wells are based on the Exeter Underground Passages if you want to go and see some authentic water transportation systems built by medieval monks :D
> 
> Next chapter... Brienne finally discovers the truth about what is happening in Casterly...


	22. Hear Me Roar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne finally discovers what is going on in Casterly...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I've been so nervous about this chapter for a long time, so I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think with comments and kudos - it makes my writing better (as always).
> 
> Ahhhh........

The grounds of Casterly Rock were very quiet and bathed in moonlight, reminding Brienne of the night of the NWA Party. That felt like a lifetime ago; then, she had been unsure about Casterly, preoccupied with Renly, and believed Jaime was an utter annoyance. She had thought that rural policing would be dull, that it would have nothing on the big city. How wrong she had been.

Brienne turned the torch on her phone off – she didn’t want to be too conspicuous. It didn’t cause a problem for her journey, as every light in Casterly Rock was on. Brienne didn’t know what that meant – she didn’t want to _think_ about what that meant. To her surprise, the great heavy front door was open. Brienne thought that was ominous, but she was too close to the truth to go back now. Pushing the door gently, she shimmied inside to the dimly lit entrance hall where she had once greeted all the members of the NWA. Jaime had been wearing a maroon suit that night…

Her journey back into her own memories was suddenly interrupted by the sound of distant voices. Without thinking, she began to follow the sound, turning into a passageway to the right. It was as if the voices were whispering her secrets which she had to discover… who killed Robert Baratheon? Why had Ned Stark gone mad? Why was Bran Stark in a wheelchair? Why had Renly, Loras, Stannis, Melisandre, Beric, Lancel, Lommy, Davos, and Salladhor deserved to die? She had to know…

The passageway was dimly lit by moonlight, but even amongst the shadows, she could see the people that lined the walls. Every few steps there was a portrait of yet another Lannister ancestor. Nearly every single face had the hawkish intensity of Tywin and Cersei, and a few possessed Tyrion’s wry, knowing look. Yet, even so, the face she saw most often was Jaime’s; Jaime’s green eyes, Jaime’s sharp jaw, the exact sun kissed shade of Jaime’s hair, Jaime’s cocky pugnaciousness, Jaime’s bruised vulnerability, Jaime’s subversive laugh. Every bit of him seemed to be pure Lannister, from his eyes, to his smile, to his hair, and the evidence was writ on the walls of his ancestral home.

She only looked away from the evocations of Jaime when she reached the end of the passageway and found a room with its door ajar. Light and voices were spilling from within. Brienne took a few tentative steps forward and lined herself up against the crack in the door, taking a few seconds to understand the scene before her.

Every seat around the circular dining table was occupied by a figure in a black hood and a mask. She scanned them all to see if she could recognise any of them, but they were all too non-descript. Only one figure rang any bells, and that was the woman at the high end of the table. She removed her hood and mask with a flourish, revealing the peachy skin, blonde hair, and green eyes of Cersei Lannister.

She smiled at the assembled body. “An announcement before we begin. I am delighted to let you all know my uncle Gerion’s wife Briony has given birth to a healthy baby girl. They have decided to name her Joy, and the christening will be a week Saturday at St Alysanne’s. You are all welcome to attend.”

There was a happy little clap at that.

 _Christenings?_ thought Brienne incredulously. _A group of murderers are talking about christenings? What is going on?_

Cersei smiled. “Now we must move on to more serious topics. Item One.”

The hooded figure to Cersei’s left removed his cloak and mask and Brienne’s mouth dropped open. It was Petyr Baelish, who had given her the opportunity to present to the girls’ school about careers in the police service.

“Thanks Cersei,” he said, nodding at her as if she were a gracious host. “You’ll all be pleased to know that tonight we finally took care of the tenacious Sergeant Tarth. The Mountain broke into her flat and ended her highly irritating little life...”

Cersei smirked. “Did you say _little_? I don’t think that word has ever applied to that woman.” A cruel laugh passed around the table that made Brienne’s blood run cold.

Pleased at her joke, Cersei took charge once more. “We will leave it a few days. Sergeant Tarth did not know many people in the village, so it will take a while for anyone to notice something is wrong. I think it might be sweetly poetic for her own colleagues to break down the door of her flat in a week’s time to find that she had slipped on the wet floor of her ensuite bathroom, and tragically broken her neck. The genuine tears of Margaery Tyrell will reinforce what a terrible accident it was. Doctor Qyburn will take it from there.”

At that, Doctor Qyburn removed his hood. “I will, as always, go on record to make sure Sergeant Tarth’s death is confirmed an accident.”

There was a round of applause at that.

Afterwards, another person removed their hood. This time it was Mr Varys, the coordinator for Casterly’s Neighbourhood Watch. “With that irritant dispatched, we can get on to more pressing matters. Arya Stark and her freaky little friends have once again been disfiguring the High Street with their mere presence, smoking and dealing weed…”

It was the mention of brave, bright Arya that compelled Brienne into action. Pushing the door open, Brienne walked inside the room full of a kind of burning righteous fury that she could never have hoped to surpress.

 _Justice,_ she thought, _for all those innocent people who have been killed._

“Stop. Right. There,” she said, in a voice filled to the brim with fury and authority. “Sergeant Brienne Tarth, Casterly Police Service,” she announced, her title giving her a scrap of courage as she withdrew her warrant card from her pocket. “I’m placing you all under arrest on suspicion of conspiracy to commit murder.”

The assembled group all turned to her one by one, pulling off their hoods to inspect her properly. Alongside Cersei, Petyr Baelish, Mr Varys, and Doctor Qyburn, there was Reverend Sparrow the vicar, Meryn Trant the farmer, and Mr Pycelle, the head librarian. It was the entirety of Casterly’s Neighbourhood Watch, made up of the people she had met at the NWA Party. The only person that was missing was Lancel.

There was a laugh at Brienne’s statement. “Oh, come on Sergeant Tarth,” smiled Meryn, “do be serious.”

“I _am_ being serious,” insisted Brienne. “Every last one of you is guilty of murdering innocent people in order to cover up Cersei Lannister’s guilty little secret.” She pointed an accusatory finger at her. “Why do it? Why become the worse thing it is possible for a person to be to hide the fact that Tommen and Myrcella are not Robert Baratheon’s?”

The NWA spoke as one.

“Hear Me Roar.”

It took Brienne a moment to understand the significance of what they were saying. During one of her many patrols with Jaime, he had told her all about his family; their ancient aristocracy, the heraldry, the fact he had a signet ring tucked away in his bedside cabinet. The most important thing in this moment, however, was that he had told her the Lannister’ family motto: _Hear Me Roar_.

“William the Conqueror gave this land to my ancestor, Loren Lannister, after the Conquest in 1066,” said Cersei, a touch of nostalgia and family pride in her voice. “Since then, it has been the Lannister family and our Small Council’s proud duty to protect Casterly from _anything_ that threatens her.” Cersei signalled round to the men sat beside her; Brienne supposed they were her Small Council. “I am Casterly’s Hand of the King,” she finished self-importantly.

“And I am Lord Commander,” said Meryn, giving a little wave.

Petyr Baelish nodded, “Master of Coin.”

“Master of Laws,” added Reverend Sparrow.

“Master of Medicine,” said Doctor Qyburn silkily.

Mr Pycelle gave a little cough. “Grand Maester.”

“And I am Master of Whisperers,” purred Mr Varys. As the coordinator of the Neighbourhood Watch, he had access to every CCTV camera in Casterly. The title fit him perfectly. Brienne looked at around at them all, not believing what she was hearing.

“So… because of some misguided loyalty to the Lannister family, you’ve all been murdering people on Cersei’s behalf?”

“Oh,” smiled Cersei viciously. “How I love your little conspiracy theories, Sergeant Tarth, but in truth it was all much more simple. It was all about protecting Casterly.”

Brienne really wasn’t getting it. “From what?”

Cersei gave her an insincere smile. “From embarrassment. From ugly new houses.”

Overcome by confusion, Brienne shut her mouth and let Cersei speak. “Stannis had already built Storm’s End – an absolute monstrosity, totally against the rustic aesthetic of the village – when my husband Robert came up with the Casterly Project. Together, he and his brother wanted to deface the village forever with thousands of new houses in the same, bland, modernist style, all so Casterly could attract idiots from the city and be part of the London commuter belt. Robert was always so tremendously nouveau riche – he couldn’t see that it would be ruining this town for all time. Casterly has belonged to the Lannisters for a thousand years. We just couldn’t let that happen.”

“So, you killed your own husband because you didn’t have the _same taste in architecture_?” said Brienne incredulously.

Cersei grinned. “Yes… and his brother… and his brother’s whore. And destroyed their ugly house. All three of them wanted to ruin Casterly.”

Mr Pycelle piped up. “We couldn’t let that happen.”

Brienne was reeling. How could this be all about the Casterly Project when only Robert, Stannis, and Melisandre had any involvement with _Baratheon Properties_?

“But what about the others?” asked Brienne. “They had nothing to do with the Casterly Project. Why go after Renly and Loras…?”

There was a laugh.

“Sergeant Tarth,” said Petyr Baelish. “I teach teenage girls, and any single one of them would have made a more convincing Juliet than Loras Tyrell. The Casterly Footlights is a fixture in the village’s cultural life. We couldn’t have Loras ruining it with avant-garde productions, cross-dressing, and twenty-five minute long stage kisses!”

“Renly and Loras’ fate,” interjected Reverend Sparrow, “was just the result of them being _appalling_ actors. It was an embarrassment to Casterly!”

She thought back to Loras Tyrell’s production of _Romeo and Juliet_. It had brought so much joy; not only had Ramsay Bolton found a new lease of life in amateur dramatics, Jaime had nearly laughed himself to death over the whole thing.

Brienne found herself tripping over her words. “You killed them for that?”

“Well,” said Mr Varys calmly. “They murdered Bill Shakespeare!”

“What?” said Brienne, shocked, before she realised what he meant. “Oh.”

“You see, Sergeant Tarth,” said Cersei. “Every death is for the good of the wider community.”

She couldn’t believe Cersei was trying to justify this as being for the greater good. Her voice rising in fury, Brienne said, “no, it hasn’t been! It’s all about _you_! What about Beric Dondarrion? You murdered him because he had discovered the truth about you and Lancel!”

Mr Varys rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, use your brain! Beric’s tenure as editor of the Casterly Citizen was an utter joke. From being a respected local paper, he demeaned it with tabloid journalism and unlimited spelling mistakes. He couldn’t even get your name right, could he, _Brian_?”

“He listed my age as forty one,” spat Cersei, as if this was the gravest insult, “when I’m actually thirty five.”

“The church roof was in dire need of repair and the insurers wouldn’t pay out unless it was proved to be hazardous,” said Reverend Sparrow. “We killed two birds with one stone.”

There was a dark collective laugh at that.

Brienne looked around at them in disbelief. “And Lommy? Davos and Salladhor? Dontos Hollard?”

“Criminal scum,” spat Petyr Baelish. “Why have them officially processed and let Casterly’s crime rate be so high when we could get rid of the perpetrators… unofficially?”

The whole Small Council were smiling, as if murdering innocent people was some great treat.

There was one thing that still made no sense. “And Lancel?” Brienne asked. “He was one of your own, a member of the NWA. Why would you have him killed?”

For the first time, there was a look of regret on every one of the Small Council’s faces. “Cousin Lancel was a _terrible_ shame,” admitted Cersei, “but he was going to betray Casterly by moving his shop to Buford Abbey.”

“If we can’t have him,” said Meryn, “no one will.”

“It’s all for the good of the realm,” chimed in Mr Varys sweetly.

Suddenly, something Margaery had said to her at Longleat came back to Brienne’s mind: _Sergeant Stark thought there had been some big conspiracy to kill Robert, and started accusing everyone and everything; Petyr Baelish, Varys… even Cersei._ It felt like a stone was sinking in her stomach.

“And Sergeant Stark found out about all this, didn’t he?” she asked furiously. “He knew there were lots of people involved, that it was bigger than one person. He realised it was something more than petty personal politics, so you murdered him and painted him as a madman.” When none of the Small Council responded, Brienne knew it was the truth. “Why do it? Is Casterly’s blessed reputation really worth innocents dying?”

The Small Council had nothing more for her other than a collective “Hear Me Roar”.

“Why did you…?”

“Hear Me Roar!”

“Stop…”

“HEAR ME ROAR!”

Brienne had had enough. “Shut it! All of you! These people died for _no reason_ , so reason whatsoever.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” came a soft voice. Brienne looked up. A door had opened behind Cersei, revealing another figure in a black cloak. As he wasn’t wearing his hood, Brienne instantly recognised the Chief Inspector, Tywin Lannister.

“Sir?!?!”

When he entered the room, the members of the Small Council got to their feet and Cersei even gestured towards her own chair. Tywin sat down and only then did the rest retake their seats. Everything made sense at once. All these mysterious deaths had been staged using police resources and brushed off as accidents because Tywin had made it so. The Robbs had never investigated because he had encouraged their natural laziness and told them it was a waste of time. He had let Brienne attempt to arrest Cersei because he knew it wasn’t his daughter but one of his other minions that Brienne had chased from _Primavera_ , so knew she did not have the tell-tale cut on her ankle. Using his power, expertise, and the knowledge of the Small Council, he had co-ordinated these deaths to trick the people of Casterly into thinking nothing was wrong.

Cersei had only said she was Hand of the King, the second in command. Brienne almost felt she needed to bow to King Tywin of Casterly, the first of his name.

As she was so flabbergasted, Brienne’s words abandoned her, giving Tywin space to fill the air. “It is very admirable that you have such faith in the law, Sergeant Tarth, but in my opinion, it is a changeable, man-made thing," he said gently. "The Lannisters have been in Casterly Rock for nearly a thousand years and we are the natural rulers of this village. It is our birth right.”

The rest of the Small Council whispered, “Hear Me Roar”.

“We’ve fought off every leeching, parasitic entity who tried to wrest control from us; the monks and their endless singing in the sixteenth century, we drowned the Reyne family in their own mine when they tried to turn this whole village into coal field in the nineteenth, and the Baratheons who thought it their own personal playground in the twenty-first. We pruned the town of criminals and lowlifes who tried to make it unsafe for the villagers.” He banged a curled fist down on the table. “While the Lannisters have been in charge, Casterly has always been happy and safe.”

“Hear Me Roar.”

A silence settled over the room and Brienne could only look at her superior, horrified that she had been tricked along with everyone else. “You are a murderer… worse than those so-called criminals and lowlifes you have had killed.”

Brienne would have been sure that Tywin rolled his eyes at that, if she wasn’t so convinced that he was an emotionless statue.

“I resisted my heritage at first,” he said delicately, “I clung on to old notions of good and evil. But my father made it clear to Kevan and I that we were the protectors of this village and only needed to answer to one thing; ancient law, country law, the laws of nature. If we wanted the Lannister family and our allies to retain our natural ownership of Casterly, we had to comply.”

“It is all that matters,” said Cersei like a religious acolyte, putting her hand on her father’s shoulder. Tywin stiffened beneath her fingers.

“My wife Joanna dissuaded me for some time,” he continued, brushing his daughter's touch away, “wanting me to find satisfaction in just having a family and being a father, but that was never enough. After she died giving birth to Tyrion, I realised there was no going back. Casterly and mastery over this village are all that matter to me. The Small Council and I have created the happiest village in England. Isn’t that what counts, Sergeant Tarth?”

She shook her head, “not when you get there through _murder_.”

Tywin sighed. “Sergeant Stark thought much the same. He was a good man; I was disappointed he couldn’t see the bigger picture, just like I am with you.”

Brienne found her voice. “I’m happy to disappoint, sir,” she spat. “But I am afraid you are going to have to come with me. You are all going to have to come with me.”

The faintest trace of a smile crossed Tywin’s lips. “No Brienne, I’m afraid it is you who is going to have to come with us…”

The Small Council and Tywin all got to their feet, pulling all sorts of bladed weapons from within their robes; axes, daggers, scythes, and knives.

“Did you really think we’d let you get away when you knew our secret?” laughed Cersei.

Knowing there was nothing for it, Brienne turned on her heel and ran for her life. Pushing open the door, she dashed back down the passageway, past the hundreds of judgemental Lannister ancestors. Tywin, Cersei, and the NWA followed behind, armed with their threatening, deadly blades.

“I said I wanted your head!” shouted Cersei, cackling, “I guess you didn’t think I was being literal!”

Brienne skidded round into the entrance hall, before dashing back out into the grounds. The cold air hit her like water, but she kept running, conscious of the fact that if she stopped, she would be dead, cut apart by a thousand blades. If her legs failed her, she would never be able to say yes to Jaime, and she would leave everything on Arya’s young shoulders.

_No… no… I must keep going…_

Brienne’s heart nearly burst when her foot caught on a clump of grass and she fell to her knees with a crash. Picking herself up desperately, she only made it a few more feet before she felt heavy, crushing fingers on her right shoulder. The owner pulled at her, turning her to face him, and she found herself looking into the Mountain’s livid eyes. His furious expression was only enhanced by the nasty wound on his forehead from when Arya had brought a pot plant down onto his skull.

Panic seizing her, she tried to free herself, but she stopped when another hand grasped at the left side of her jacket, fingers deft. The pressure was accompanied by a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach.

Brienne turned her head and found herself looking into a pair of familiar green eyes that she loved so dearly; Lannister eyes. It shocked her to see how emotionless they were.

“Jaime…”

He let go suddenly, and Brienne’s heart nearly broke with relief, but then she saw it was only to draw a pocket knife from his belt. As he lifted it up, it shone silver in the moonlight, before he plunged it into her chest. She could only watch in horror as red liquid soaked through her jacket.

Jaime’s hands felt gentle as she fell back to the floor, and her last sight before she closed her eyes was his pale face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... thoughts?
> 
> Let me know with a comment or kudos, and I hope you come back next time!
> 
> Next chapter... you know what? I think I might just leave this one on a cliffhanger.


	23. Hateful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The repercussions of the confrontation at Casterly Rock become clear...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... going by the comments, everyone is freaking out. I hope I haven't scared everyone away from my story! Thank you so much for your comments and kudos, I can't believe how many this story has accumulated. I'm gobsmacked. Please continue to let me know what you think... it inspires me to write.
> 
> Now, this chapter...
> 
> I didn't want to leave all my lovely readers on that cliffhanger for too long. This chapter and the next one were originally a single chapter, but I then realised that it would get too long and the second half is giving me problems! Instead of having to wait forever, I just decided to give you this bit as I wrestle with the chaos of what is coming next. I hope you enjoy!

Brienne kept her eyes closed as Jaime lifted her from the ground and carried her away in his strong, tender arms. She pretended she was dead all the way through his heated conversation with his father and Cersei about what should be done with her.

“Take the rental car on the drive to the same stretch of road we used for Renly and Loras. I’ll send some associates along to help dress the scene up in an hour,” Tywin ordered.

“No,” said Jaime firmly. “She deserves better than that. Let me bury her in the woods… somewhere pretty.”

Cersei laughed. “God, you are so sentimental. Just because she wanted to fuck you…”

Brienne beat down the blush even as Cersei said it.

“Let me do what I think is best,” said Jaime, his voice heavy with emotion. “I’ve proved myself, haven’t I?”

Brienne continued to play dead when Jaime gently placed her in the boot of the rental and did not react when his fingers momentarily brushed her cheek. She even remained silent when he shut her in the dark.

_I trust him,_ she thought madly, again and again. _I trust him._

Concentrating on the familiar hum of the moving car, she tried to keep her sanity. Casterly was ruled by an evil cult, led by Tywin Lannister and supported by Cersei and the NWA. Everything she thought she knew was a lie. The whole village had been manipulated into dancing to Tywin and the NWA’s tune by a mixture of murder, mayhem, and lies. Even her colleagues – Margaery, the Hound, Ilyn, the Robbs – had been tricked into thinking they were being good police officers, when in fact they were just a cover for darker things that were going on under the surface.

Brienne finally opened her eyes when the car came to a halt. She could hear Jaime moving, opening the car door and slamming it behind him. When he eventually unlocked the boot, she saw they were way outside Casterly on an abandoned stretch of road. She was only armed with a damning look in her eyes.

“Ta-daaa…” said Jaime meekly, pulling out the sachets of ketchup from her jacket pocket which he had swiped in when he had first grabbed her back at Casterly Rock.

“You fucking idiot! What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Saving your life.” He extended his good hand to her and she took it, letting him help her out of the car. Once she was standing in front of him, she dropped his hand, as if he had burned her.

“What is going on, Jaime?” she spat furiously. “What are you even doing here? Are you one of them? Are you involved in all this?”

He gave her a pained expression. “No… I mean, yes… I mean, no… maybe… kind of?” He dropped his eyes to the ground.

She didn’t have time for this. “Jaime. Look at me! Did you know your father and the NWA were murdering people?”

“No!” he said defensively, looking back up at her, “not before tonight.”

A wave of relief hit her. “How did you find out what was going on?”

He sighed, before running his hand through his hair nervously, searching for the words. “When I got home after seeing you, I had a phone call from Cersei. She said the family was in trouble and I needed to prove where my loyalties lie. She told me to meet her at Casterly Rock as soon as possible, so I left as quickly as I could.”

Brienne’s breathing finally started to return to normal as Jaime continued his story. “I got halfway across the village when I ran into Arya and Gendry. They were babbling about fighting the Mountain, finding dead bodies in the water wells – Ned, Davos, Salladhor, Lommy – and how you’d gone after Cersei. They told me you’d asked for my help and that you wanted me to follow you.” He paused, his eyes regaining their familiar tenderness. “Is that true? Did you really ask for me?”

_This is still him,_ she thought. _This is still the man I love._

Brienne felt herself flush but tried to suppress the swell of affection for him that threatened to overtake her at his obvious warmth towards her.

“Yes,” she insisted, trying to stay aloof. “I needed my police partner.”

He nodded, his eyes dimming somewhat. “I told them not to tell anyone what was happening, that I would sort it out, but that they should just go to the hospital and claim that Gendry had just fallen down the stairs or something. Arya looked a bit suspicious, but I begged her to trust me. Hopefully they’ve made it to the hospital by now.”

It was too hard to stay distant; Jaime’s concern for the two vulnerable teenagers lost in the dark warmed Brienne’s heart.

“After they’d told me about how deep this thing went, I knew that Cersei wasn’t capable of it; at least, not on her own. If I know my twin, I know she’s all rash fury and spontaneity. There is no way she’d be able to plot something this grand without significant help. It became very clear that there was only one organisation in the whole of Casterly who could do something this vast…” He paused; his eyes suddenly glassy. “At least… I knew the NWA had done something similar previously.”

It was as if a great invisible hand had taken hold of Brienne’s guts. “You knew they’d been on a killing spree before?”

“No! Not a killing spree!” He looked pained, upset, on the edge of something. “I knew they’d… they’d…”

Jaime’s innate vulnerability shone through in that moment and Brienne found herself reaching out to him against her better judgement. When her fingers brushed his cheek, he lifted his hand and pressed her more firmly into his skin, looking at her with his startling green eyes.

“Tell me what happened,” she said gently. “I can’t work out how to fix this unless I know everything.”

He nodded, a great sadness overcoming him. “Okay… but you’ll hate me forever.”

She wanted to say she wouldn’t, because she knew it was the truth. Even if it turned out that he had murdered every single one of the NWA’s victims with his bare hands, it would have been impossible for her to stop loving him. It would have destroyed her, but there were some things she couldn’t change. That truth felt too big to lay on him, however, so instead of speaking, she waited for his story.

Jaime took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Soon after Robert died, I met up with Taena. We had a big row about something or other and she dumped me for the millionth time. I was so angry and upset that I went to _The Inn_ to get a drink, even though it was only late afternoon. I got absolutely smashed, like I used to, and eventually Masha had to call my sister to come pick me up because I was so drunk. It was only about eight o’clock.”

A dark look suddenly overcame him, and he removed Brienne’s hand from his cheek, placing it back down next to her side. “Cersei was in a foul mood that day – raging about Robert and Stannis – and she seemed het up and furious. I wondered whether she had been drinking as well. Masha didn’t seem to notice though, and she got Pod to help Cersei put me in the car, and then the two of us drove away.”

His eyes were very distant, and Brienne was unsure if he could even see her. “Cersei decided it was best to go to Casterly Rock – I don’t know why, maybe she thought my father could talk some sense into me – and she started ranting about what an embarrassment I was to the family and to Casterly… and I just lost it. I started shouting about how she had never cared about what had happened in Manchester, how I had lost my hand, about how I’d just had my heart broken. She said I was right; she didn’t care. She accused me of rejecting my birth right by leaving the village, by leaving her, and that I had put everything on her. We were screaming at each other so loud that we didn’t notice the little boy on his bike in the middle of the road.”

Brienne could see the scene unfolding so clearly in her mind’s eye. “Bran Stark…”

Jaime nodded. “He was knocked out cold and his legs were… mangled. We stopped the car, but I was so drunk and panicked I didn’t know what to do. Cersei took charge; she phoned my father, and when he arrived at the scene the entirety of the NWA were with him too. My father assured me that we could sort this out; Mr Varys could doctor the CCTV footage; Petyr Baelish could spread divergent rumours at the school about what had happened; Doctor Qyburn could come up with some excuse on the medical report. My father said that the NWA were there to help people in the village, especially us, the Lannister heirs. All Cersei and I had to do was keep quiet about it.”

The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place and, for Brienne, it was perhaps the most tragic. Sergeant Stark’s suspicions and paranoia had only been inflamed by his son’s accident but, in actual fact, it had had next to nothing to do with what was really going on in Casterly. It was, instead, an accident. Even so, Jaime looked tortured by the memory. Wanting to help him, Brienne tried to find kind words.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered gently, “I would have understood. We could have talked about it, just like we do everything else.”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell," he stressed. "It was Cersei that was driving the car, and my father who covered it up, but it was also my fault. I was drunk. I was angry. I was arguing with her. I then had to go into work every day on patrol with Sergeant Stark, unable to tell him what had really happened to his son. I’ve had to carry that burden, alone, until tonight.”

“You’ll never have to do that again,” Brienne said passionately, putting her hands on his shoulders. “I’m here. You can tell me anything and everything, and I will listen.”

At her touch, some of his guilt dissipated, and he put his hands tentatively on her waist. “Tonight,” he said, “just for a moment, I’m glad it happened, because it gave me the knowledge to save you. Without knowing what they were capable of, I would never have realised what danger you were in. After I saw Arya and Gendry, I came to Casterly Rock as quickly as possible. When I entered the house, I could hear you shouting blue murder at them, but I decided it was best to wait until the right time. I knew they would try to kill you, but, if I could convince them that I was one of them, that I was Lannister enough, I could save you. Cersei had wanted me to prove where my loyalties lie, after all.”

Suddenly, an affectionate smile broke across his face. “As you tried to arrest eight fully armed people all on your own – you crazy woman – I improvised with what I could find; the knife, the ketchup, the dead-eyed expression. I got to you just as the Mountain did… I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t. I did that stupid trick I showed you at Stannis’ reception and, somehow, the NWA, my father, and Cersei believed me. You know the rest.”

With that, Brienne couldn’t bear to be this far away from him anymore, so she pulled him into a tight embrace. There was some unfamiliar tension in his body, but he reciprocated.

“Oh, Jaime…” she said, relief overwhelming her, “thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” he said gruffly. “This is all my fault. If I had put this all together sooner, my father would never have been as powerful or as deadly as he is now.” With his head rested against hers, she found it easy to run her fingers through his hair, but when she went to do so, he pulled away. Her pain at his subtle rejection was only compounded when she saw the aggrieved expression on his face. “It’s probably best if you leave Casterly. It will be safer… they’ll think I did bury you somewhere beautiful. Go back to London, there’s nothing you can do here.”

_He wants me to leave him?_ thought Brienne, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. There was no way she was doing that, and she was going to show him so.

Tightening her grip on him, she kissed him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him snugly against her to persuade him that it would be physical painful if he pulled back.

“Don’t push me away,” she mumbled against his lips, kissing him again and again. “I spent so long doing it to you. We can fight this together.”

Jaime moved back, breaking the kiss. “How? This is Casterly. This is my father, my sister, my family! I’m a Lannister, you can’t ask me to fight against my own house.”

“Yes, I can,” she said ferociously. “Fuck families! Fuck houses and promises! Fuck loyalty! This is about something bigger than both of us. This is about doing the right thing. Lots of people have died because your father thinks Casterly is his own personal kingdom to do whatever he likes with. To him, you, me, and every other person in the village is just a pawn that he can play with. We have to stop him, Jaime, otherwise, how can we say we are police officers? We must protect the innocent people of this town who don’t know what is going on. We must do our duty.”

Jaime kept swallowing, as if to push down his sadness. “You are not just fighting him, though. Casterly is hateful,” he croaked, his tears choking him, “and I am part of it.”

That seemed outrageous to her. “No, you are not!” she said, cupping his face in her hands, desperately wanting him to see what she saw. “You’ve just been swept up along in all this, just like I have. You can make it _right_. I know you are a good man… a good police officer. We can go to London, tell them what happened, and bring back the entire force of the Metropolitan Police with us!”

“You think I am a good man?” he said incredulously, “after I maimed Bran Stark? After I nearly drank myself to death rather than doing my job? After I ridiculed you for _actually_ being a good officer?”

Brienne wasn’t great with words, but she tried to find a way to tell him what she truly thought of him, what she saw when she looked into his eyes. “I think your father and your sister never understood how naturally kind you are. I think you bravely lost your hand to save a woman you barely knew, because you saw it was the right thing to do. I think you were burned by uncaring superiors, who let the system chew you up and spit you out. I think you drink as a distraction, and if you really tried you could beat that demon.”

Her love for him overcame all rational analysis of him. “I think nobody has ever loved you the way you deserve to be loved; they all see this sarcastic arrogant fuckboy, the man I saw when I first met you, but you are so much more than that. You are one of the best police officers I know. You are enough. You are everything to me. You can make this _right_.”

Even though his face had gone bright red and his eyes were alight with emotion, Jaime shook his head. “The NWA will make it all disappear, just like they did before. Who are the Met going to believe? Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock, or a loony AWOL police officer?”

Brienne pressed her forehead again his, making him look into her eyes. “But we can do this together, Jaime. You and me. Partners.”

He blinked, which caused the tears to start spilling down his cheeks. “If I disappear too, they’ll know you are alive. They will come after you, Cersei already hates you enough. And I would rather have you a million miles away from me, safe and content, than by my side and in danger. Leave Casterly. Go back to London. Live your life… be happy… live safe and secure until you are old and wrinkled. I couldn’t live with myself otherwise.”

With his words came a sense of the pull between them, the binding cord that connected her heart to his. Brienne knew that if it were cut, she would shatter. At her internal acknowledgement of her feelings, she found she was crying too.

“But how can I ever be happy when I’m not with you? How can I bear to live my life without you? You are everything to me, Jaime, everything, and I can’t leave you here to be their toy. I can’t let them win.”

“You are too good for me,” he said sadly, wiping her tears away with his hand. “I am not worth risking your life for.”

_Why was he being so stubborn about this?_

“You _are_ ,” she insisted. “You are and Casterly is. I’ve been so happy here… I love it here… I love you, Jaime.”

There was such an immense sadness in his eyes that it hurt to look at him. “Brienne,” he said softly, “you know that is the first time you’ve said that to me?”

“I know,” she sobbed, her heart breaking that this may be the only time she would ever get to say it to him. “I should have said it a thousand times before. I love you, Jaime… I love you… Come with me…”

Their cheeks were wet, their hands shaking, but Brienne was determined that if this was her last kiss with Jaime Lannister, she would make it one they would both never forget. She encircled her arms around his waist, pulling him close so she could feel every inch of him pressed up against her. Using her tongue to part his lips, she kissed him with everything she had, everything she was. She wanted him to feel how much she loved him, for him to know that this was enough. Her love could lift him up and free him from the bonds of his father, his sister, and Casterly. Together, they could make this right. He grasped at her, running his hand through her hair, and the sounds he made in her mouth could have been moans or sobs.

With every passing second, she thought she was persuading him to come with her to London, to fix this. This fire couldn’t be mistaken for anything else than what it was; the furious, passionate love that she had told him didn’t exist. She wanted to prove to him now that it did. With that proof, he would have to come with her.

Her illusion was shattered when he broke the kiss and stepped back.

“Go,” he commanded.

“Jaime…”

“ _Go_ ,” he said, more forcefully. “I won’t have you dying on my behalf.”

“But…”

He threw her the keys to the rental, and she caught them almost subconsciously.

“I love you, wench,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of tragedy. “Never forget that. But get yourself out of here right now.”

“Jaime… please…”

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he begged. “This is too big even for you to face.”

There was a determined look in his eye that showed her nothing she said would persuade him. He loved her too much to countenance her fighting a one woman war against Casterly, especially on his behalf.

“Goodbye Brienne,” he said, the words coming out in a croak.

“Goodbye Jaime.” Hers were accompanied by a flood of tears.

They stood staring at each other, daring the other to be the first one to move. Seeing the pain etched on his face, it was Brienne who broke the tension. She turned her back on him and went to the car, climbing into the driver’s seat. As she revved the engine, she could see him in the windscreen, his face pale, his green eyes tortured by heartbreak.

_This isn’t fair,_ she thought. _This isn’t right. I want to be with him, and he wants to be with me._

As she drove away, he stayed standing in the road, but with every passing second he grew smaller and smaller.

She watched him in her wing mirror for as long as possible, until, finally, Jaime was consumed by the darkness of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked this chapter. I imagined it as a weird mash up between the scene where Nicholas leaves Sandford in Hot Fuzz, and the heartbreaking/godawful/insert your own adjective here scene in 8x04 where Jaime leaves Brienne. Once again, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, and I hope you come back next time!
> 
> Next chapter... A heartbroken Brienne returns to London, preparing to face life without Jaime.


	24. The Sapphire Isle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne returns to London, preparing for a life without Jaime...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES! I've finally wrestled with this chapter long enough to get it to work! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos warm my heart, so please keep them coming!

When Brienne had first come to Casterly, she had thought the train ride down from London had been the most torturous journey of her life. After all, it had included naked men, screaming babies, and broken overhead powerlines.

It was nothing compared to this.

Once she drove past the “Welcome to Casterly” sign, she realised she would never see Jaime again. She would never share another patrol with him again, never hear him make one of his stupid jokes again, never eat ice cream with him again, never talk absolute bullshit until they were both crying with laughter again, never kiss him again, never melt in his arms as they made love again. Never say yes. That was it. It was all over.

When she passed Stonehenge, she realised that it wasn’t just Jaime. She could never go to Syrio’s class with Margaery, Sansa, and Shae ever again either. She couldn’t plot and plan with Arya, Gendry, and Hot Pie. She couldn’t have insightful but cryptic conversations with Tyrion. She couldn’t listen to the Hound moaning or grin at his obvious love for his dog. She couldn’t call the Robbs lazy bastards. She couldn’t share knowing smiles with Ilyn. She couldn’t get a drink at _The Inn_. She couldn’t explain her love for being a police officer to Pod. She couldn’t feel crazy jealous every time Pia and Jaime were within fifty feet of each other. She couldn’t go to _Biscuits for All Occasions_ on a Sunday afternoon and have a shortbread. She couldn’t go and see Casterly Footlights next production – she had heard it was going to be _Anything Goes_. She couldn’t cuddle up with Shadow on her sofa. She couldn’t go for an evening walk around Casterly, just to appreciate how beautiful the village was at twilight. She couldn’t live the life she wanted to.

If anyone in Casterly found out she was alive, she wasn’t just putting herself in danger, but Jaime as well. If the NWA discovered he hadn’t killed her, they would deem him a bigger traitor than Lancel, and it would be _him_ buried in some place beautiful in the woods. That thought made her blood run cold. As far as everyone she knew and loved in the village was concerned, she had disappeared, just like Ned Stark.

When the sun came up, her phone started buzzing and it just got more insistent the closer she got to London.

_Margaery:_           Are you alright babe? Tywin said you are unwell. Maybe something’s going around. Jaime doesn’t look that great either.

_Sansa:_                 YOU’VE GOT TO COME TO WATER DANCERS TONIGHT. Syrio has finally agreed we can do _Uptown Funk_.

_Shae:_                   How much commitment is adopting a cat? Me and Tyrion were wondering.

_Tyrion:_                Tell Shae that getting a cat is the biggest commitment of your life. I don’t want a fucking cat.

_The Hound:_         Did you break my _Guns and Roses_ mug? That’s two you owe me.

_Arya:_                   Brienne, where are you? Call me! I’m worried.

She stopped at a service station outside Basingstoke and sat at a sticky table with the world’s worst burger. Ignoring the messages from her friends, she sent an email to Oberyn.

_Dear Oberyn,_

_It’s Brienne Tarth here. The placement in Casterly didn’t work out, so I am coming back to London. Do you happen to know any jobs available for a PC/Sergeant in the city (or elsewhere)? I’m in a bit of a fix._

_Yours sincerely, Brienne_

After that, she turned her phone off. She couldn’t bear any more reminders about what she was leaving behind in Casterly. When her screen went dark, she knew that was it. There was nothing left to connect her with the life she longed to live. Yet she still wasn’t quite prepared to go all the way to London. Having eaten her burger, she didn’t leave, but sat morosely at the table, doodling on a napkin. Despite her being the world’s worst at drawing, Brienne’s sketch was undoubtedly of Jaime. Once she had finished, she ran her thumb over his slightly distorted face, pretending for a moment that it was really him, before getting up and throwing the napkin and the rest of her rubbish in the bin.

When she finally got back on the road, the traffic was so slow moving that Brienne eventually turned her car engine off and took the opportunity to cry her eyes out. She didn’t know how long she sobbed for – it could have been twenty minutes or two hours – but was eventually forced back to reality when she heard an aggressive toot of a horn and saw the car in front of her had driven on.

“MOVE!” came an angry voice from the Datsun Cherry behind her, “we all want to get home sometime this week!”

_Home,_ she thought sadly. It was one of the greatest tragedies of her life that she was being forced to drive away from it forever.

* * *

 

Because of the horrendous traffic, she didn’t arrive in London until about ten o’clock, and then it took even longer to find her way through the slow moving, twisty roads that made up the suburbs. While waiting at some traffic lights, she turned the radio on, which instantly turned out to be her biggest mistake yet. It was Ed Sheeran.

_So honey now,_

_Take me into your loving arms._

_Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars._

_Place your head on my beating heart,_

_I’m thinking out loud._

_Maybe we found love right where we are._

Suddenly she was back at the Arlington Rooms in Jaime’s arms, the beat of his heart faint but unmistakeable as they were pressed so close together. Later that night he had taken her for their first and only time, and the thought brought tears to her eyes (yet again). Brienne turned the radio off quickly; she didn’t need to be reminded of him, not when he already possessed her so entirely.

It was only when she was few roads away from her destination that she consciously noticed where she was driving to: Hyle’s. He was the only connection she had ever made in London, after all. Parking up, it all felt wearily familiar as she made her way to his flat. As it was the middle of the week, she wasn’t expecting anyone to answer, so was startled when he did.

“Brienne,” said Hyle when he opened his front door. Depressingly, he looked exactly the same as when she last saw him, as if nothing had happened in the interim. His surprise was unmistakable on his face. “Why are you covered in ketchup?”

She looked down at herself. Up to that point, she hadn’t noticed she was still marked by Jaime’s attempt to save her life.

“I got stabbed,” she said weakly, looking back up at Hyle. “Can I come in?”

Clearly thinking she was joking, his lips twisted into a smile. “Sure. I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

Brienne had been in Hyle’s flat hundreds of times and it hadn’t changed at all. There was still a huge poster of Jessica Rabbit in his lounge, and his boxing gloves hung lazily over the coat hook. Hyle gestured for her to sit on the sofa as he bundled into the adjoining kitchenette, whacking the kettle on.

“So,” he said through the serving hatch, “what brings you back to Balham?”

_The man I love sent me away to save my life, and now we can never see each other again. What better place to grieve and pine than Balham?_

“I need somewhere to stay for a few days.”

Hyle said, “did it all go wrong in Gloucestershire?”

“Somerset,” she corrected him.

“Did you miss the proper action of the big city?”

_There's been plenty of proper action in Casterly,_ Brienne thought bitterly. _Escaped swans, an onion smuggling operation, shoplifters who weren’t afraid to kick people in the bollocks, ninja cats stuck up trees… oh, and a murderous cult intent on destroying everything that has ever made me happy._

“There was plenty of action in Casterly,” said Brienne wistfully. “But it’s not that.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve; tears were threatening again. At that moment, Hyle entered the living room with two cups of tea and spotted the expression on her face.

“Oh,” he said, putting them both down on the coffee table and sitting beside her. “You’re running away from a man.”

She had never known Hyle was so perceptive.

“No, I’m not…” she tried to protest, but Hyle wasn’t having any of that.

“That’s the worst bit,” he said sagely, “the point when you realise they don’t want you as much as you want them. It happened to me only last week. Holly got it into her head that I wanted marriage and babies; when I corrected her assumption, she threw a bowl of soup over me.”

It rankled slightly that Hyle thought she was the victim of unrequited love, so she rectified his mistake. “It’s not like that at all. I was with someone. He loves me. I love him.”

Hyle’s eyes widened. “More than your job?”

“More than my job,” she confirmed.

Hyle let out a slow whistle. “He must have been some guy. Why aren’t you still in Gloucestershire, then?”

Not wanting to explain that Casterly was secretly ruled by a bunch of serial killers, Brienne said, “it just didn’t work out.”

“Sucks.”

“Yep,” Brienne said, popping the “p”.

They sat in silence together for a moment, before something shifted in Hyle’s expression. He turned to her, a familiar, predatorial smile on his face. “Well, would you look at that? You and me, free agents, at the same time… once again.”

Brienne only became aware of what he meant when he put his hands on her shoulders to turn her towards him and stuck his tongue down her throat. It was clumsy and sloppy, and it wasn’t improved by the fact that Hyle’s hands were suddenly on her tits, grasping and squeezing a little too hard. Even so, she kissed him back.

_This is all there is for me now._

She closed her eyes and thought of Jaime. Even when he was passionate, he had a way of being unbelievably tender and gentle with her. As he held her, he would talk to her and whisper sweet, erotic things, telling her how great she made him feel. God, he was so sexy. Jaime’s body was so hard, so strong, so masculine, and he smelt so good. She loved how sharp his jaw was, how gold his hair was, the green of his eyes, the strength of his arms, how quickly he got hard. Even just the thought of the sensual moans he had made when he thrust inside her turned her on. His closeness could make her smile, make her melt, make her happy, even if they weren’t touching. She loved him so much.

And here she was betraying him with Hyle after a couple of hours apart.

“Stop,” said Brienne, pulling away.

“Why?” answered Hyle, his lips dropping to her neck.

“I said stop!” she said, more forcefully, getting off the sofa. “I don’t want to sleep with you.”

_I only want Jaime._

Hyle looked confused. “But that’s normally the only reason you ever come and see me, Brienne. You’ve had a bad day, I’ve had a bad day, and we need a distraction. We fuck ‘cause it eases the hurt a little.”

“I don’t want to be distracted anymore,” she said honestly. Although her heart was broken into a million pieces, she wanted to hold onto her pain. It was all she had left of him. “I just want…”

_Jaime._

“What?”

She couldn’t talk about it, not with Hyle, so Brienne sat back down on the sofa next to him, picking up the cup of tea and taking a sip. “Thank you for letting me stay, but I’m not going to sleep with you while I’m here. I’m past all that. Hopefully I’ll be out of your hair in a couple of days.”

Hyle nodded, appraising her, as if seeing her for the first time. “You seem different.”

She scoffed at that. “What, in that I’m a crying, ketchup-covered mess?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “More confident, surer of yourself and what you want. It’s a good thing.”

It was the first thing that had happened to her that lifted her spirits slightly since she had watched Jaime disappear into the darkness on that lonely road.

“Thanks, Hyle,” she said, a little uneasily. It was a bit weird to be talking with him like this. Normally, it was just a handshake and then a round of _how’s-your-father_.

They sat in silence for a few moments more, before Hyle said, “so… what do you want from me?”

Brienne shrugged. “Just somewhere to stay I suppose… and someone familiar around. It all got a bit… mad… during the last few days.”

“You want to talk?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. It would be good to talk with someone, just not here or now. “I just know I definitely don’t want to have sex. I’d be betraying him, even though… even though it can never work.”

Hyle’s face was serious. “But what are we without the sex? We’ve always been fuck buddies. I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

Brienne turned to look at him, taking in his brown hair, hazel eyes, and the cleft in his chin. It was as if she was actually seeing him for the first time. “Well, maybe we should stop. Maybe we should be something else.”

“What?”

Brienne shrugged. “I don’t know, friends?” she suggested. For all the times she had shoved Connington and Hyle in the same category in her head, in fact, they couldn’t be more different. Connington had been vindictive and cruel, whereas Hyle had always been honest with her. They had sex because he was horny and she was lonely, and, in a weird way, it had papered over the cracks back in the days when she had been convinced that the life of an old cat lady was all that remained to her. She didn’t need that anymore – thoughts of Jaime would keep her warm until the day she died – but maybe she could do with a friend.

“Okay,” he said tentatively. “Friends.”

* * *

 

They talked a little while longer, skirting the subject that dogged her every thought without naming it directly. _Jaime._ Eventually, she told Hyle she was tired and asked if she could sleep on his sofa.

“Sure,” he said, “shall I put your jacket in the wash though? You probably don’t want to wake up smelling of tomato.”

Brienne let out a little smile, “yes, you are right.” She slipped it off, and he went off to the kitchenette to put it in the washing machine. Then, to her surprise, Hyle found a blanket and a pillow for her, and she curled up gratefully on his sofa, all the while being stared down at by Jessica Rabbit.

Sleep came unexpectedly easily.

When she woke up, hours later, in the darkened room, she could tell it had been a long time, as the hum of the washing machine had finished. She looked up at the clock; it was 5pm.

_God, I’ve been asleep all day._

She only sat up and removed the blanket when she heard the rattle of the front door and a voice that was not Hyle’s. Knowing he had a visitor, Brienne leapt up from the sofa, not wanting to look like Hyle had invited a passed out druggie to stay. She had just about made herself presentable by the time Hyle had brought the visitor down the hall and into the lounge.

“Dad?” said Brienne incredulously.

There was no mistaking Selwyn Tarth. He was a tall man, taller than her, with grey hair and piercing blue eyes that she had inherited from him. He was wearing such a warm smile that she found herself collapsing into him in a moment.

“It’s so good to see you!” she beamed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“You too pumpkin,” he replied, rubbing her back.

“Aren’t you needed back on the farm?”

“Ah,” he said, making a dismissive gesture, “I can take some time out for my daughter, can’t I?”

When they broke the hug, Brienne asked, “what are you doing here?”

“Hyle phoned. Said you were down and that he thought you needed a chat with your old Dad.”

Brienne turned to look at Hyle, smiling at him gratefully. Several years ago, she had given him her dad’s details as her emergency contact, in case anything went wrong.

_And everything was really fucking wrong._

“So,” said her Dad. “Do you want to talk?”

She nodded and the movement caused a single tear to spill down her cheek. Her Dad brushed it away with his thumb.

“Come on girl. Let’s go get a drink and some food. It will make everything better.” He turned to Hyle, “is there a pub round here?”

Hyle nodded. “Two. I work at _The Lady Stoneheart_ , which can get a bit rowdy, so if you want somewhere quieter, I’d recommend _The Sapphire Isle_. It does great food too.”

“That sounds perfect,” said Selwyn. “Come on pumpkin. Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Hyle was right. The Sapphire Isle _was_ quiet, but it meant they could ask for a big table and then proceeded to order everything on the menu. It was curry night, so Brienne was stuffed with poppadoms and mango chutney before they’d even got onto the topic that was consuming her.

“Oooh,” said her Dad, sipping his drink. “Have you ever tried this Thatcher’s Gold Summer Fruits cider?”

_That’s Jaime’s favourite._

“Yes, but it makes me feel sick.”

“Stick to your gin, my dear,” chuckled Selwyn. “Much safer.”

“I will,” she replied, taking a big gulp of her double.

It was only when the rest of the food had been brought over – barbeque chicken wings, garlic bread, doughballs, tandoori prawns, spring rolls, chicken nuggets, nachos, curly fries, mini pizzas, and a chocolate sundae – did Brienne realise that perhaps their eyes were a little too big for their bellies.

“I’ll have to find a new gym in London after eating all this,” she said sadly, “I can’t go back to _Water Dancers_.”

“What’s _Water Dancers_?”

Brienne didn’t feel like she was sufficiently prepared to explain the enigma that was Syrio Forel, so she said, “oh, just an aerobics class I went to in Casterly.”

“Casterly,” ruminated her Dad, picking up a slice of garlic bread. “I thought you liked it there. Why are you back in London?”

“I did… I mean… I do.”

“Did you get a better job offer in London?”

Brienne shook her head. “No, I’m technically unemployed as of today.”

“Bloody hell, Brienne,” he almost choked, “did you get fired?”

“No! Of course I didn’t! What do you take me for?”

Her Dad laughed, “well, why did you leave then?”

She looked down at her hands. “It was… I was… they were…” Gazing back up at him, she took a big breath before saying, “It’s probably best I start from the beginning.”

“Go ahead,” said her Dad, picking up a chicken nugget in readiness for a very long story.

Then, it all came pouring out of her.

Brienne told him everything, some of which she mentioned before, of course, when they’d chatted on the phone, but she repeated lots to give him the whole picture. She told him about Oberyn’s reasons for sending her away, the stupid journey to Casterly, about her friendship with Renly, about her desire to make a good impression. She described the village; it’s quaint beauty and what a tight knit community it was. Brienne took detours so she could tell him about Margaery, about nearly being killed by a lion, about dance classes with Sansa and Shae. She told him about her colleagues; the gruff but loveable Hound, the enigmatic Ilyn, the annoying Robbs, and the dozy Jon. She told him about onion heists and shoplifters and killer cats. She sketched out vulnerable Arya Stark, who had lost her dad and had seen her family crumble around her, a girl who Brienne felt strangely responsible for.

But, most of all, she told him about Jaime Lannister, the annoying drunk she had first been paired with. Afterwards, she explained Jaime Lannister, her partner, who had been indispensable to her when they went on patrols and chased shoplifters. Then she moved on to Jaime Lannister, her friend, who had laughed until he cried at a performance of _Romeo and Juliet_. Finally, she told him about Jaime Lannister, the man she would once have not believed it was possible to love this much. As she explained everything to her Dad, Brienne was finally able to make some sense of how Jaime had sneaked up on her, entirely unawares, until suddenly she was so in love, she didn’t know what way was up and what was down. The tears came to her eyes as she told her Dad about how much of Jaime was wrapped up in sarcasm and deflection; about how reluctant Jaime had been to tell her how he lost his hand, and then about how he’d lost his hand in a stupidly brave way and that she had no idea why he hid it, and then how he had a bad habit of going on a bender every time he was upset.

“I upset him a lot of the time,” she said sadly, “because I couldn’t see what was right in front of my eyes.”

She then told him about the Lannister dynasty, about Tywin, Cersei, and Tyrion, and the judgemental eyes of their ancestors hanging in their frames in Casterly Rock. Brienne laid out the mystery to her dad as it had appeared before her; Cersei’s casual mention of Robert at the NWA Party, Margaery explaining Robb Stark’s behaviour at Longleat, the traffic collision she’d been entirely suspicious of, the exploding house, St Alysanne’s crumbling roof, Beric’s notes, Lancel’s confession, the Mountain’s visit in the middle of the night, the rotting smell of the water wells. It was like she was telling a ghost story round a campfire when she set the scene at Casterly Rock, the NWA in their hoods, the knives hidden under their robes, and Jaime’s dead-eyed expression as he’d saved her life.

The tears were flooding down her cheeks by the time she said, “and then he told me he’d rather have me a million miles away from him, safe and happy, than with him and in danger. He sent me away, and if I go back, it puts both our lives at risk.” Selwyn Tarth pushed the plate of spring rolls out of the way so her could reach across and pat his daughters’ hand. The sudden comfort inspired her to say, “but I almost don’t care, because how can I be happy, Dad, if I’m not with him?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” he said gently. “Ever since your mother passed, it’s been a question I’ve been asking myself every day.”

She sniffled, wiping her tears on her sleeve, until her Dad pulled out a handkerchief, which she took gratefully.

“Tell me,” she begged, “what do I do?”

Her dad appraised her, an affectionate look in his eye. “First things first. I think I need to see a photo of this future son-in-law of mine.”

Brienne went bright red, but she didn’t protest. Turning her phone back on, she ignored the mounting messages she’d got from everyone back in Casterly and went to her photos. Brienne had hundreds of photos of Jaime; he was the vainest man she had ever met, after all. Scanning through them, she couldn’t help but laugh; most of them were selfies they had taken while on patrol. In the earliest ones, Jaime would be beaming, and she’d be sitting grumpily beside him. As it went on, she began to see a smile tug at the corner of her lips, before, eventually, she was joining in with him, pulling silly faces at the camera.

The photo she picked, however, was one that Shae had taken of the two of them at Stannis’ reception. That night had been the start of everything, of course, and Brienne could see it not only in his expression, but her own as well. Although the photo only showed the two of them from the shoulders up, Brienne remembered that the redness of her cheeks was caused by the fact he had put his hand in the small of her back, dangerously close to her arse. That wasn’t the reason why she had chosen that photo, however; it was the look in Jaime’s eyes. His head was tilted towards her, and he was wearing the expression he gave her when they were alone together, the one she knew that belonged entirely to her. It was her favourite photo of him.

“There,” she said, handing the phone to her dad. “That’s him.”

He got his glasses out to take a look, and when his eyes fell on Jaime he laughed heartily. “Oh, pumpkin. I see you love him for his personality.”

Brienne fixed him with a stern look. “Okay, I am aware some people might think he’s _handsome_ , but he has a lovely personality as well.”

Her Dad was still laughing, crinkles at the corner of his eyes, but even so, Brienne felt a sadness resting in her belly. She had realised she had finished her story, and she was once again at the end. The end without Jaime.

“But it doesn’t matter,” she said quietly. “He’s not your future son-in-law. It’s over. I can’t go back to Casterly. It’s too dangerous.”

“Why? Because of these loonies with knives?”

She looked at him incredulously. “They are more than _loonies with knives_ , Dad. They _are_ Casterly. They have their finger in every single pie. They are the Chief of Police and the biggest employer and the vicar and the headmaster. There’s no escaping them.”

“Ah!” said her Dad, “but they think you’re dead.”

“Yes. And?”

“It gives you the element of surprise, doesn’t it?” he smiled. “Why not go give them a good haunting?”

Brienne couldn’t believe what he was saying. “Are you telling me I should go back to Casterly?”

“Yes,” he said emphatically, “or you’ll forever be asking yourself the question: _how can I be happy if I’m not with him?_ ”

The thought of returning to Jaime suddenly seized her. “But… but… it’s dangerous.”

Her Dad squeezed her fingers. “Can you remember what I told you when you first phoned me to say you were moving to Somerset?”

She wracked her brains. “It was something about living life to the fullest, wasn’t it?”

“Glad to see my words have such an effect on you,” he chortled. “No, what I actually said is that you should do three things. Firstly, make some amazing friends. Secondly, meet the man of your dreams. Finally, be the best damn sergeant the South West has ever seen.”

The conversation suddenly came back to her. “Yes…” she said, “I remember.”

Her Dad picked up one of the spring rolls and bit into it. “Well, as far as I can see you’ve done two of those things.”

“Only two?”

“Yep,” he said, before gulping down the rest of the spring roll. “You’ve made great friends; Margaery, Sansa and Shae, Tyrion, and the whole other cast of characters you’ve introduced me to in the last couple of hours. I even think that Robb Stark likes you more than he lets on.” His eyes crinkled when he smiled. “And I don’t think I can wax lyrical as well as you have on the charms of Jaime Lannister, my dear, because it’s clear you’re quite besotted.”

She tried to push down a blush. “But that means…”

Her Dad looked right at her with his deep blue eyes. “I think the best damn sergeant the South West has ever seen wouldn’t be in some pub in Balham eating curry with her old Dad while her village was being terrorised. She would be down in Casterly showing those loonies with knives what for.”

Cersei Lannister’s face came to Brienne’s mind’s eye, along with her long repressed desire to punch her on the nose.

“But I can’t do it alone,” she said, her voice trembling. “There’s too many… it’s too much…”

Her Dad shook his head, a sense of sadness in his eyes. “For some reason, ever since Gal died, you’ve always wanted to believe you are totally alone in this world, but you’re not, sweetheart, I promise.”

Her heart almost burst.

“Do you really think Jaime would just sit there and let you fight this all by yourself if you turned up in the village? What about Margaery? All your other colleagues? You are much more persuasive and charming than you ever give yourself credit for. They are your friends. They’ll help you.”

Her heart was suddenly beating furiously. Could she really go back to Casterly? Try to arrest Tywin, Cersei, and the NWA? Would Jaime help her? Were there really people who would believe her?

She was lost for words, so her Dad said, “think on it. It’s a big decision to make.”

After that, they didn’t really talk about Casterly anymore. Brienne had completely exhausted herself on the subject, after all. Instead, they talked about her Dad’s obsession with _Pointless_ , his attempts to watch _Love Island_ , and the fact he was thinking of taking up windsurfing, as they finished the rest of their food.

“This one’s on me,” said her Dad, as he went to pay the bill. After that, he walked her back to Hyle’s, telling her stupid Dad jokes all the way.

When they got to Hyle’s front door, Brienne asked, “where are you staying tonight? Surely you can’t be intending to go all the way back to the Isle of Wight now?”

“Oh no!” huffed her Dad. “Too much for these old bones! I’m going to get the tube to Clapham. My old friend Roelle has agreed to put me up for the night. It’s a long time since I’ve seen her.”

Brienne decided not to probe any further into _that_ relationship, so she said, “oh okay. I was worried I was going to have to sleep on Hyle’s floor.”

Her Dad laughed. “No, you have a nice sleep on the sofa, my girl,” he said, patting her shoulder, before pulling her into a deep hug. When they broke apart, he said, “are you going to be here tomorrow? I could come and say goodbye in the afternoon, if you want, before I go home.”

She shook her head. “Sorry, Dad. I’ll be gone by then.”

He gave her a wicked grin. “That’s my girl.”

With that, she rang the doorbell.

“Don’t leave it so long next time,” he said, a little reproachfully. “You could come visit me on the Isle of Wight. Maybe bring that Jaime chap you’ve been talking so much about.”

She nodded, “I’d love to.” The thought of introducing Jaime to her Dad was weirdly exciting.

“Wonderful.”

Suddenly, Hyle was at the door and he was ushering her inside, complaining about the cold.

“Bye, Dad,” said Brienne, “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’m counting on it!”

* * *

 

After saying goodbye to her Dad, Brienne went back into Hyle’s lounge, and made up her little bed on the sofa once more. Hyle followed her, wanting to make sure everything was alright before he too went to sleep.

“Hyle, do you happen to have any clothes of mine, from before?” she asked. “I’ll need a new outfit for tomorrow.”

Hyle wrinkled his brow. “Errr… I think I do. But… you might not like which ones.”

She looked at him confusedly, until he went off to find them. Coming back, she saw why he had been so reticent. During one of the periods where they had played at being boyfriend and girlfriend, Hyle had taken her to his friend Dick Crabb’s birthday party. It was fancy dress, and the theme had been the letter “B” for birthday. While Hyle had gone as Boris Becker, Brienne had decided to go as a biker chick. The clothes he put down on the coffee table was her outfit from that night; a tight black vest top, black skinny jeans, a belt with a huge buckle, a leather jacket, and knee high boots with a slight heel. It was all topped off by a pair of _Ray-Bans_.

“Perfect,” she said, folding them neatly. “I’ll wear them tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” asked Hyle, a little surprised.

“Positive.”

He nodded, “okay then. I suppose I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Maybe not,” she said, “I might sneak out early. I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Okay,” he said again, looking a little confused.

She smiled at him warmly. “Thanks for everything though.”

Hyle nodded again, before yawning sleepily. “No problem,” he said. “Night.”

“Night,” she replied.

Once he had disappeared into his bedroom, Brienne went to brush her teeth, before coming back into the lounge, turning the light off, and curling up on the sofa under her blanket.

_Fuck this shit,_ she thought.

Her Dad was right. She was Brienne Tarth, the best copper in the Met _and_ the Casterly Constabulary. She wouldn’t let Tywin, Cersei, and the Neighbour Watch Alliance take that away from her. She was going back to Casterly to save her community – for Arya and Margaery and Shae and Sansa and Syrio and Pod and Shadow and the Hound and even bloody Robb Stark – to save the only place she ever felt like she belonged.

And when she got back to the village, she was going to tell Jaime Lannister that he was the best fucking thing that had ever happened to her and she loved him with all her heart.

She was going to get her man… and, while she was at it, blow some shit up…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that. I really liked writing Selwyn, and it was nice getting out of Casterly for a bit!
> 
> Once again, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated - I love to know how I'm doing, and that you are enjoying (or deeply hate) my story!
> 
> The next chapter is going to get MAJOR COMPLICATED, so hopefully I can get it done in the next couple of days, but I'll see how I'm going.
> 
> Next chapter... Brienne returns to Casterly to face off with Tywin, Cersei, and the NWA...


	25. A Really Weird Sex Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne returns to Casterly to face off against Tywin, Cersei, and the NWA...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is here! I am so happy that lots of people have stuck with my story and seem to be enjoying it. Please leave comments and kudos - it lets me know there are people out in the universe enjoying this silliness, and keeps inspiring me to write!

For the first time in her life, Brienne felt like she could do anything. 

 _Jaime,_ she kept thinking, _I’m coming for you. I’m coming to save you from your father and your sister. And I’ll save the whole damn village along with you._

She left Hyle’s house before he had even woken up, wearing the biker chick outfit he had found. Feeling a bit bad, she found Hyle’s wallet and took £40, leaving him a note saying: _Thanks. I owe you £40!_

Putting her _Ray-bans_ on, she felt unstoppable; pumped up on adrenaline, anticipation, and thoughts of Jaime. Because she had left so early, the traffic wasn’t too bad, and she was out of London by six o’clock. She banged out a couple of power ballads on the radio, singing as loud as her lungs would let her.

_Not long, Jaime. I’ll be with you soon._

She felt like a goddess of victory, of vengeance, of war. When she thought about Jaime, she was the goddess of love. A plan forming in her head, she pulled over at the service station near Basingstoke to pick up what she needed; loads of cans of spray paint, a sturdy rucksack, and liquid eyeliner. After applying the most edgy amount of eyeliner she could possibly manage without looking like she’d been punched, she put all her purchases in the rucksack in the boot of the car and began bombing it towards Casterly as quickly as she possibly could.

_My love, I’m coming for you._

The bubble of her own awesomeness only popped a mile outside Casterly, when smoke began to billow out of the bonnet of the rental and the car stuttered to a halt.

“No! No! NO!” she shouted, as she examined the oily mess that had caused the car to have a breakdown. “DO YOU NOT REALISE I HAVE IMPORTANT SHIT TO DO!” Quickly realising the car was a dead loss, she left on the side of the road and got her rucksack out.

_If I can’t drive to you, Jaime, I’ll fucking run._

Once the rucksack was safely on her back, she began to jog down the road, getting her phone out as she did so. Knowing she needed help, she rang the only person she knew she could trust one hundred percent.

“Arya? Is that you?”

She heard the girl sigh with relief. “Thank god! I thought you were dead!”

“Nope!” panted Brienne, picking up her pace. “I’m very much alive, those fuckers can’t stop me. I need your help.”

“Anything!” said Arya.

“I need you to meet me at the Armoury Museum. Bring Hot Pie… and Gendry if you think he’s up for a bit of physical exertion.”

“Why? What do you…?”

Brienne didn’t have time for questions. “Also, bring something to defend yourself – maybe a cricket bat or something – it might get a little hairy.”

“Really?” Arya said, a little breathlessly.

“I intend to keep you out of it as much as possible, but you never know, there are armed lunatics about.”

There was a pause. “Armed Lunatics? Plural?”

“Armed lunatics _plural_ ,” repeated Brienne. “Meet me at the museum as quick as you can. I’ll tell you everything when I see you.”

“Okay! I’ll be fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you,” said Brienne seriously, as she listened to Arya dashing about in her readiness to get to the Armoury Museum.

She could almost hear Arya’s smile. “You too.”

Once she had hung up the phone, Brienne picked up her pace. It would be easier if she got to the Museum before Arya, Hot Pie, and Gendry, if only to avoid the spectacle she intended to make. However, once she finally arrived, the three teenagers were already there.

“Brienne!” cried Arya, running forward, slinging her arms round her neck. “I thought you were dead!” Brienne could hear that tears were threatening. “I thought they’d got you! I thought…”

Brienne pulled away, her eyes burning with emotion. “They’ll never get me, Arya, and they’ll never get you either. We’re going to stop this.”

Arya nodded furiously, as Gendry and Hot Pie jogged up behind her. Gendry’s face was still bruised, but he was holding both a cricket and baseball bat like a pro. Hot Pie looked less assured, but he was proudly wielding a battered old golf club.

“So,” said Hot Pie, trying to pump himself up. “What going on? Are we going to get Cersei? I think she’s probably at _Lannisters_.”

Brienne shook her head. “Not yet. This thing is bigger than anything we could have dreamed up in your dad’s shed.”

To fill them in, Brienne told them everything that had happened since she had left Arya and Gendry in the water wells; from Tywin and the NWA to her sojourn in London with her Dad to her return to Casterly (minus the two ridiculous seconds her heartbroken brain thought it was a good idea to kiss Hyle Hunt… _urgh_ ).

“They think I’m dead,” Brienne concluded, “so we have the element of surprise.”

Gendry shook his head. “But is the element of surprise enough? The NWA rule Casterly. What have we got but three baseball bats and the truth?”

“Allies,” Brienne said emphatically, “we’ve got allies.”

After laying out her plan in detail to them, the three teenagers agreed to follow her up to the pretty little cottage that sat adjacent to the Armoury Museum. Arya had taken the baseball bat, while Gendry held his cricket bat aloft. Not wanting to be outdone, Hot Pie swung his golf club around like it was a Samurai sword. Brienne put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“I just need you to look a little bit scary,” said Brienne gently, “not like homicidal maniacs.”

“Mmm,” smiled Arya, “I think we can give you local hoodlum. Would that work?”

Brienne laughed. “Local hoodlum is perfect.”

Arya, Gendry, and Hot Pie were clustered round Brienne, weapons held aloft, when she finally rang the doorbell. When she had no response, she rang the bell again, and this time she heard grumbling voices from upstairs, before the creaking sound of someone walking.

“He’s coming,” warned Brienne. “Get ready.”

When the door swung open, she was greeted by Tyrion Lannister in his Snoopy pyjamas, rubbing his eyes. “Oh,” he said, looking a little confused. “Sergeant Tarth…” She didn’t give him time to finish the sentence. Pouncing on him, she grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

“ARE YOU WITH THEM?” In her enthusiasm to play badass cop, she’d lifted Tyrion off the ground. As his bare feet dangled, his eyes went wide as he nervously looked between Brienne and her three local hoodlums.

“What the hell?”

“ARE YOU WITH THEM?”

“With who?” Tyrion squeaked. “It’s just Shae and I here. She’s upstairs in bed.”

Hearing Gendry tighten his grip on the cricket bat, Brienne rolled her eyes. “I’m not talking about your _girlfriend_. I’m talking about _them_. Are you a member of the NWA? Do you know what your father and Cersei are up to?”

Tyrion looked at her like she’d gone mad before he shook his head. “My father wouldn’t let me anywhere near the NWA after I didn’t want to be the supermarket magnate of his dreams. I don’t even know where he’s going on holiday this year – I definitely don’t know whatever the hell he and Cersei are up to.”

Brienne had suspected this was probably the case; like Jaime, Tyrion had never been one to embrace his family duties. Clicking her fingers, she signalled for the local hoodlums to put down their weapons. “Good,” she breathed, letting go of him. Changing tack, she said, “can we come in for a cup of tea?”

Tyrion looked at her incredulously. “What? After your cronies just threatened to bash my head in with a golf club?”

She shrugged. “They are not my cronies and it’s nothing personal. And anyway, I would have thought you would want to save your brother from mortal peril.”

Tyrion’s expression went stony. “Jaime’s in danger?”

“Yes,” said Brienne, her breathless energy suddenly exchanged for fear, “and we need your help to save him.”

Without another word, Tyrion opened the front door and beckoned them inside. The local hoodlums leant their weapons on an umbrella stand, just as Shae came down the stairs in her dressing gown, having been woken up by the kerfuffle at the front door.

“What on earth is going on?” she asked, looking confusedly from Brienne to Tyrion to the three teenagers.

“I have no idea,” said Tyrion, a little uneasily. “Brienne is just going to explain. Come, let’s all have tea.” With that, Tyrion led the group into the kitchen, putting the kettle on immediately.

“Jesus Christ,” he said as he sat down at the kitchen table, managing his breathing, “you all scared the shit out of me. Is there any reason why you’ve turned up at this ungodly hour of the morning dressed as the Bat Out of Hell and her three homicidal maniacs?”

Arya looked a little disappointed. “We were going for _local hoodlums_ actually. We just needed to put the fear of god in you, to make sure you weren’t on the wrong side.”

“The wrong side?” he asked. “You can’t just say cryptic shit like that. I really need you to explain what is going on, and why you think my brother is in danger. Otherwise I may have to call the police.”

“No, don’t do that!” panicked Brienne, before delving into the craziest, maddest story of her life for what felt like the hundredth time that week. She gave the short version, cutting out all the slushy stuff with Jaime; she wanted her telling to be an action film not a romantic melodrama. The way she staged it, she made it clear that Tywin and the NWA had ruled Casterly with murderous abandon for too long, and they must be stopped. Arya and the other chimed in at various points when they felt Brienne was missing out vital details.

Just as Brienne got to the point when Beric Dondarrion’s head was exploded by a bit of church spire, Shae said, “do you all take sugar with your tea?”

Everyone shook their head apart from Hot Pie. “Seventeen please,” he said.

Shae raised her eyebrows. “Seventeen? You take seventeen sugars with your tea?”

Hot Pie nodded sagely. “Any more and it gets too sweet.”

Once they were all perched round the kitchen with their tea, Brienne brought the story to its dramatic conclusion; their fight with the Mountain, the bodies in the water wells, and the midnight showdown at Casterly Rock. As Brienne told Tyrion and Shae about her departure from Casterly, she merely presented Jaime as her police partner, and he just gave her a polite peck on the cheek as a sweet adieu. A part of her still thought she had the potential to screw this all up; she didn’t want to count her chickens before they had hatched.

“So, I came back here to stop them, because if they ever discover I’m alive, Jaime is done for. And Casterly deserves someone fighting its corner. Arya, Gendry, and Hot Pie have all agreed to help me as well. And… I don’t know… I was hoping you would too. You must know what your father and sister are like. Surely you can see this must be stopped?”

Tyrion let out a low whistle between his teeth. “Shitting hell… this just seems so… mad.”

“I know,” said Brienne forcefully, taking her last gulp of tea, “but it doesn’t make it any less true. Do you remember those guns you looked at for me? The ones that were hidden in the woods? I reckon that was the NWA’s private stash for whenever they needed to off someone. It explains why the last murders were so much more… homemade. They had to make do with what they could find, whether that was garden shears or a bit of the church roof.”

Tyrion downed the dregs of his tea in one, before beginning to pace back and forward in the kitchen, the motion making it look like Snoopy was nodding on his pyjamas. Eventually, he stopped. “What can I do to help?”

Brienne felt a wave of relief wash over her. “I need weapons and you, my friend, happen to own an Armoury Museum.”

Tyrion shook his head. “But you don’t have a license to use any of them.”

“No, I don’t,” she admitted. Brienne thought of Jaime, “but a very wise man once told me that sometimes you need to engage in a little bit of vigilantism to get shit done.”

Tyrion chuckled at that. “Ok,” he said. “Let’s see what we can find.”

Leading the way, Tyrion led Brienne, Arya, Gendry, Hot Pie, and Shae into the Armoury Museum, taking a big set of keys that eventually allowed them access to the Museum’s deepest darkest basement, where all the really deadly shit was kept. “As I assume you don’t want to fight with an arquebus, I think your best bet are the guns you found in the woods,” said Tyrion, unlocking the door. “They are more up to date and will be much easier to manage. You probably even came across some of them while working in London. And I have ammo for them.”

Brienne nodded. “Whatever you think is best.”

They went through into the room, which looked like James Bond’s wet dream, and Tyrion went up on a little step ladder to pull down two huge hunting rifles. “How much damage do you want to do?”

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” insisted Brienne. “I’m going to aim to incapacitate. Then I’ll arrest them. It’s justice I want, not revenge.”

Tyrion nodded, looking respectful, before coming down the step ladder. “Ok, I think these are a good shout. They pack a punch, but you won’t be able to douse anybody in bullets like you could with a machine gun. It will force you to be a bit more precise.”

“Great,” she said, taking them from him. “I can get you a harness so you can strap them to your back. A holster for two pistols is also a good idea too; again, they’ll allow you more precision. We can hang the ammo across your body, allowing quick reloading.” A part of Brienne that was very conscious of how she looked could see herself turning up in the centre of town; a biker goddess, draped in ammo. She wondered what Jaime would think of her.

As Tyrion began to bustle around the room getting everything ready, Brienne noticed Gendry eyeing up a very impressive medieval war hammer enclosed in a glass case. From his expression, Brienne almost thought the weapon was calling to him. “What do we get?” he said. “I want a Wolfram PPK. Or this hammer.”

Brienne gave him a stern look. “You are going to have to be content with your cricket bat. I’m not having any of you playing at being Tom Cruise like we’re stuck in some weird rural version of _Mission Impossible 6_.”

_Only I’m allowed to do that._

All three local hoodlums looked a little disappointed. “But,” said Arya, “how are we going to help if we can’t fight?”

“Don’t you remember me telling you that good police work is not all about fighting, Arya?” said Brienne gently. “You three have a vital role in all this. Upstairs in my rucksack, I have lots of cans of spray paint. I need you to go round Casterly and cover up every single CCTV camera in the village. We can’t have the NWA knowing what we are up to.”

That put a smile on Arya’s face. “We’ll literally be _graffitiing_ local hoodlums, the NWA’s worst nightmare. It’s perfect.”

Brienne laughed. “I’m glad you think so.”

At that, Shae stepped forward. “And what can we do to help? Surely there is more we can do than just provide you with the ammo?”

Brienne nodded. “Yes, there is.” She looked a little sheepish for a moment. “My car broke down just outside Casterly, so I was wondering if you had a ride I could borrow.”

Shae’s face fell. “I’m sorry, we don’t. I nearly scraped the door off our Citroen Picasso trying to park at _The Picturehouse_ the other night, so it’s at the garage, and the Museum’s removal truck is currently in Bristol picking up a shipment of eighteenth century snipers for a new exhibition.”

“Damn,” cursed Brienne, trying to reconceptualise her plan. “It’s going to be a lot harder moving across the village if I don’t have a quick way to get around.”

After a moment of thinking, Shae’s face brightened. “Unless, of course, you can ride a horse.”

Brienne’s Dad had spent years making Brienne have horse-riding lessons, insisting that as he was a farmer on the Isle of Wight, his daughter had to live the country life. Brienne had never been interested – her head had been filled with dreams of policing in the big city – but now she felt herself supremely thankful for Selwyn Tarth for the second time in twenty four hours.

“Actually, I can. Do you have a horse I could borrow?”

Tyrion chuckled. “Butch Cassidy is a bit of a psycho as far as horses go, but he’ll do if you want to get around quickly. Just be aware… he bites.”

Brienne tried to suppress a little bit of nervousness about the horse known as Butch Cassidy, but found it a little difficult, even as she laid out the rest of the plan. “With that settled, the most important thing you two can do is go to Lannisport and inform the police there what is happening. You need to give me a bit of time so I can make sure the NWA doesn’t twist my actions and make it appear like I’m some crazed cop going on a gun rampage, but I’ll also need all the back-up I can get, and quickly.”

Shae nodded. “Of course. We’ll be happy to help.”

"Great,” said Brienne, smiling, looking round at the bunch of misfits in the room; the AWOL cop, the gun expert, the recently graduated PhD student, and three local hoodlums. Maybe Brienne’s Dad was right; maybe she did have friends in Casterly who wouldn’t stand by when the right thing needed to be done.

* * *

 

Butch Cassidy wasn’t quite as terrifying as Tyrion painted him to be. Once Brienne was on his back – the rifles strapped to her back, the ammo slung across her chest, and two pistols in her holster – she found the horse ready and willing to take her where she wanted to go.

“Right,” she said, turning to her little vigilante squad just outside the stables. “I think it’s time we split up. I’ll see you all when this is all over.”

Arya nodded earnestly. “You will. I won’t fail you.”

“I know you won’t,” said Brienne, smiling down at her from the back of the horse. “And I won’t fail _you_.”

With that, Arya signalled to Gendry and Hot Pie and the three teenagers began to run off down the road, gleefully discussing the best way to target the CCTV cameras with spray paint without anyone noticing.

Tyrion chuckled. “Who knew Arya Stark was such an upstanding member of the community?”

“Me,” said Brienne, honestly. After shooting one final look at Arya, she turned back to Tyrion and Shae. “Thank you for all your help. Remember, I need a bit of time, but please get to Lannisport as quickly as possible.”

“Of course,” said Shae firmly, “we’ve already called the cab.”

There was a pause, and when Brienne didn’t immediately move away, Tyrion fixed her with a wry look. “Ser Brienne,” he said, waving a hand over Brienne and then the horse. “Don’t you think it is about time you went and saved your maiden fair from the evil villains who hold him captive?”

Brienne blushed, but then remembered that Tyrion had been conscious of the fact that Jaime liked her at least as far back as Margaery’s party, and was the administrator of the “Get Jaime and Brienne into a Loving and Committed Long Term Relationship” Group Chat.

“Yes. I think it is.”

* * *

 

Brienne rode Butch Cassidy into the centre of town, counting on the fact that several members of the NWA would be there. It was the beginning of the school holidays after all; Petyr Baelish would be getting his morning coffee, Reverend Sparrow attending to his congregation, Meryn Trant on his daily bike ride. Through her daily patrol with Jaime, she had learnt how this village operated.

Even so, she wasn’t expecting her luck to be even greater than she had anticipated. The whole NWA were standing in the High Street, milling around together, gloating in their perceived triumph; Meryn Trant, Petyr Baelish, Reverend Sparrow, Doctor Qyburn, Mr Pycelle, and Mr Varys. The only ones who were missing were Cersei and Tywin. As expected, Meryn Trant was on his mountain bike, dressed in full cycle lycra – a tiny rucksack on his back and a sturdy helmet perched tightly on his head. Baelish and Varys were grouped together by the pub, deep in conversation, while the others were scattered around, mixed amongst innocent people.

 _Innocent people I’m here to save,_ Brienne thought.

And the most innocent of them all was her maiden fair: Jaime Lannister. It had only been a day, but she felt like she hadn’t seen him for twenty five years. He was sitting in their police car on patrol on his own – his usual blond, half a god self – having clearly been in the middle of dying of boredom without the pleasure of her company. However, at the sight of her riding into the village on the back of a white horse looking like some lost white knight, he seemed to have perked up a bit. Even through her _Ray-bans_ , Brienne could see that Jaime was fixing her with the world’s most incredulous look, somewhere between horror, wonder, and awe.

With maybe a hint of slack-jawed arousal thrown in as well.

Turning away from him, she looked back at the rest of the village. Butch Cassidy and Tyrion’s weapons must have made her quite a sight, because it seemed everyone in the High Street had pivoted to look at her.

Suddenly, it was very, very, quiet.

Those who had no clue what was going on looked at her with a faint mixture of confusion and bafflement, while the NWA all seemed to be acting like they were in a zombie movie and had just seen a dearly departed loved one resurrected. Brienne knew she had to break the tension. Dismounting Butch Cassidy, she pulled one of the rifles from her back. Brienne thought back to her first day in the village, when everyone had been so happy to greet her. Cocking her gun, she said the only thing that she knew would really stir some shit up.

“Morning.”

Then, the village erupted into chaos. Mr Pycelle opened his huge coat, pulling out an enormous shot gun. Taking a couple of pot shots at her, Brienne had to dive behind a nearby raised flowerbed to avoid getting hit. The other NWA members were not so ready to leap into action, and it took Meryn Trant’s commanding voice to organise them.

“Regroup!” he shouted, “I’ll head her off.”

When Mr Pycelle had fired his gun, the innocent people of Casterly had taken the opportunity to skedaddle as quickly as they could. They were soon joined by the rest of the NWA – including Mr Pycelle – who all darted off in different directions. Crouched behind the flowerbed, the only ones that Brienne was able to follow with her eyes were Mr Varys and Petyr Baelish, who both dashed inside _The Inn at the Crossroads_.

 _If they hurt Pod, or Masha, or even bloody Pia…_ thought Brienne dangerously.

However, she didn’t have time to decide exactly what she would do, as Meryn Trant was upon her. Pulling out two pistols from his tiny rucksack, he began cycling towards her, using his evident talent for mountain biking to stay upright on his bike, while shooting at her with both hands.

“AHHHHHHHHHH,” he screamed.

Brienne peeped over the flowerbed, trying to take her shot. It was bloody impossible; he was moving so fast that it was difficult to get a hit that she knew would safely incapacitate him.

 _I’m a police officer,_ she thought. _I will not kill him unless I really, really have to._

With every passing second, Meryn got closer and closer, and his shots kept whistling over her head. In response, she did the only thing she could do. “AHHHHHHHHHH,” Brienne shouted impotently, like a character who everyone thought was the hero might scream at an undead dragon in the poorly scripted final season of a popular fantasy show.

And then, something brilliant happened.

Meryn had cycled too close to the police car, meaning that when Jaime swung its door wide open, he crashed into it, sending him, the bike, and the two pistols flying over the top. Falling to the ground with a sickening crunch, he was knocked out cold. Jaime only gave him a scant glance as he got out the car, before turning to look at Brienne, who was still crouched behind the flowerbed. In response to his insistent gaze, she got to her feet. By the time she did, he was standing before her.

_Jaime…_

They didn’t say anything for a moment, but just looked at each other – him in amazement, her in relief. Eventually, Jaime found the words to break the silence.

“Is this real?” he asked tentatively, his green eyes fixed on her. “Or is this the beginning of some really weird sex dream? Because I wasn’t aware we had a mounted division.”

She chuckled, knowing that Butch Cassidy had pissed off at the first sound of gunfire. Her heart skipped a beat at his smile. Pleased to see him, she took this brief moment of respite to look Jaime over from head to toe. It did much for her ego that his trousers were looking a little snug around the crotch, and it brought a smile to her face. “I worry about you sometimes,” she said affectionately, “but I can confirm this is real life.”

“Oh okay,” he nodded, semi-seriously. “Good to know. With you in that outfit and the horse and the shooting… I’m just really feeling like a Bond girl at the moment…”

His words trailed off when he saw that her smile had dissolved into an expression of doubt. Suddenly the undercurrent of humour was cut away from the conversation as she looked at him warily. “Whose side are you on?” she asked, trying to stop her voice from trembling. “Mine? Or are you a Lannister through and through? I need to know.”

He tilted his head to the side; his green eyes were filled with all the love that she had hoped he felt for her. “Surely you know by now. It’s yours… it’ll always be yours.”

It was what she had expected he would say, but even so, it was a relief.

“Good,” she said breathlessly, “because it makes this thing a whole lot easier.” She pulled one of the rifles off her back, handing it to him.

“What are you…?”

“I need my partner, Jaime,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. “I need the man who was always reliable on patrol, who helped me find an onion smuggler, and who chased a shoplifter across Casterly. I need him to help me arrest most of the village, because it’s the right thing to do. I need _my_ Jaime, the good man and the great police officer who I love. And he needs to get twenty out of twenty shots this time, not nineteen. Can you help me?”

He swallowed, swept away by emotion. “Of course,” he said eventually, not taking his lovely eyes off her, before cocking his gun. “As long as you promise not to look me in the eye too long. It’s highly distracting.”

With that, there was no more time for words, as the NWA had finally regrouped and were upon them. Momentarily lost in the green of Jaime's eyes, Brienne only realised that a hail of bullets was upon them when he rugby tackled her to the ground, so they were both hidden behind the raised flowerbed she had earlier used to defend herself. Consequently, the first wave sailed over their heads.

“Thanks partner,” she said, even though she was slightly winded.

He smiled; his cheeks flushed at their sudden closeness.

“Any time.”

And then, the Battle of Casterly began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading... comments and kudos are greatly appreciated as always! I love to know what you think of my version of the characters, situation, or anything really!
> 
> My intention with the rest of this story is to show how Game of Thrones should have ended via the medium of Hot Fuzz. If Jaime had ever really made the utterly dippy decision to return to Cersei (not that he ever would, mind), Brienne would have so gone after him and hauled his arse back to Winterfell. My Brienne is going to do just that... but she's in Somerset and has guns.
> 
> I don't know how long the next chapter is going to be. I have a MAJORLY busy week this week, so I'll see. I am also intending on being as self-indulgent as possible with this, because I am sad we are finally nearing the end!
> 
> Next chapter... the Battle of Casterly begins...


	26. The Battle of Casterly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight for Casterly begins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had a spike of inspiration after I finished work yesterday, so this is with you a lot quicker than I was intending. I hope you enjoy! As ever, please leave comments and kudos - they warm my heart and let me know how my pathetic attempts at comedy are coming on :D

Jaime was the first to peek over the raised flowerbed to try and see what the hell was going on.

“It’s Mr Pycelle,” he said, after ducking back down. “He’s now got a machine gun out, but it’s clear he doesn’t have a bloody clue how to use it.” Brienne copied him and, sure enough, Mr Pycelle was just waving the thing around and hoping, occasionally causing a splutter of bullets to go ricocheting down the High Street. Once she sank back down, Jaime asked her, “do we have a plan?”

Taking one last look at Mr Pycelle wildly shooting his gun, Brienne turned to whisper to Jaime. “I need you to give me your baton, right now.” She looked down at his belt, to which it was attached.

Jaime raised his eyebrows at that. “Wench, really? Right _now_? When there’s an armed and dangerous librarian in front of us? You are insatiable!” He smirked, drawing close. “Don’t worry, I’ll give it to you good and proper later.”

She gave him a half serious, half playful whack. “This is not the time for dick jokes.”

“It’s always the time for dick jokes,” he purred, disconnecting his baton from his belt and handing it to her. Regaining a sense of seriousness, he said, “so. What’s the plan?”

“Human bait,” she said. “And unfortunately for you, you are the only one of us wearing a bullet proof vest.”

He pretended to be offended. “That’s only because you decided to show up in the world’s most inappropriate outfit for a shootout. I mean, I totally dig it but…”

“Jaime,” she said forcefully, “ _focus_!”

He smiled at her. “Sorry, wench. I’m focussed, I promise.”

“Good,” she said, trying to suppress a laugh, even as bullets whizzed over her head. “I think what we should do is have you run to the right with the rifle and try to take a couple of pot shots at him. That should distract him for long enough for me to come at him from the left with the pistol and the baton. Hopefully it will confuse him enough that he won’t get either of us.”

Jaime looked at her incredulously. “That’s your brilliant plan?”

“Have you got a better one?”

He shrugged. “No, not really.”

“Then yes,” she said sternly. “That’s my brilliant plan.”

At that point, Mr Pycelle sent a stutter of bullets over their head. “Okay then,” said Jaime, finally embracing the gravity of the situation before reloading his gun. “Make sure you take the path closest to the shops, wench, it will give you the space to duck for cover if you need to. And zig zag – everybody knows it makes it harder for you to get hit.”

“Zig zag, got it,” said Brienne, a sense of apprehension dawning. “Look after yourself.”

He smiled at her. “I promise I will,” he said, before putting his hand on her cheek and pressing a firm but brief kiss to her lips. Brienne found it very hard to pull away.

“Ready?” he asked.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

Jaime was up on his feet. Immediately charging off to the right, Mr Pycelle followed him with a spray of bullets. Brienne silently thanked which ever sky deity happened to be listening that Mr Pycelle’s aim was thoroughly crap, because Jaime managed to run towards him with a grace and speed unaffected by the hail of bullets. Then it was Brienne’s turn. Dashing in the other direction, she pulled a pistol from her holster and started firing at Mr Pycelle. She was aiming for his shoulder, but it was very difficult considering she was running and he had no intention of being shot. In the confusion, Mr Pycelle moved backwards, waving the machine gun around, sending a spray of bullets into the air.

When she was close enough, she brought the baton up in the air, swinging it down onto the machine gun so it went skittering out of Mr Pycelle’s hands. Brienne wasn’t allowed a moment of triumph, however, as he then opened his coat once more, this time pulling out a sword.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” she growled as she was forced to parry Mr Pycelle’s first thrust with the baton. “I didn’t know we were in a shitting fantasy cosplay.”

Even though Mr Pycelle was much older than Brienne – and ostensibly spent his days making sure the books of Casterly’s library were ordered rigorously according to the Dewey decimal system – it was clear he knew how to use a sword. Maybe he had once been a fencer. As Brienne met him, blow for blow, Jaime stood to the side, pointing his gun at Mr Pycelle, trying to get that incapacitating shot.

“Jaime,” said Brienne warningly, as Mr Pycelle’s sword swung perilously close to her neck. “Can... you... just... shoot... him... please?”

“I’m trying, wench,” growled Jaime, once more moving the gun backwards and forwards. “But he keeps… _moving around_.”

“ARGH!” cried Mr Pycelle, as he swung the sword down on her in yet another attempted blow. Brienne dived to the left, allowing her room to bring the baton back across her body in an attempt to knock the sword out of his hands, but she missed. Mr Pycelle then brought up his sword again, this time attempting to jab at her, and she was forced to leap back. As the sword was longer than the baton, Mr Pycelle tried to press his advantage, taking a long horizontal swing across her.

“Duck!” shouted Jaime, but Brienne already had, and was crouched low to the ground in a moment. Sensing her opportunity, she kicked one of her long legs out, hooking it around Mr Pycelle’s ankles in order to bring him down. As he fell, he let go of the sword and it allowed Jaime to move in, holding the gun over him.

“Yield!” demanded Jaime.

“Okay,” moaned Mr Pycelle. “I yield.”

Jaime threw his handcuffs to Brienne, and she caught them. Catching Mr Pycelle by the wrist, she dragged him over to a nearby bike rack. Jaime followed, keeping his gun trained on the librarian until Brienne had handcuffed him in place.

“ _Ouch_ …” moaned Mr Pycelle as Brienne tightened the handcuff around his wrist.

“Don’t give me _ouch_ ,” spat Brienne. “I imagine Beric Dondarrion’s last conscious thought was probably _ouch_ as you splattered his head with a bit of church spire.”

Jaime sniggered as Brienne got to her feet, and it was only when she shot him a look that he stopped laughing – that was a bit too dark for daytime TV. “We’ll come back for him later,” Brienne said, standing up straight. “We’ve got bigger fish to fry at the moment.”

Jaime nodded, “what do we…?”

Whatever he was going to ask was interrupted by a loud voice that came ringing across the High Street. “Stop! Stop this mindless violence!” Both Brienne and Jaime turned around slowly to see Reverend Sparrow walking down the road, his arms held wide, cutting some Jesus shapes. Jaime went to lift his gun, but Brienne put a hand on the rifle to lower it. It seemed the Reverend wasn’t armed.

At that small cessation of hostilities, Sparrow said, “Brienne, my daughter. You may not be a woman of God, but surely you are a woman of peace?”

She felt Jaime’s hand curl round her wrist as she went to step forward, but she gently shrugged him off. Perhaps there was space for reasonable dialogue in this?

“I may not be a woman of God, Reverend,” she said seriously, “but I know right, and I know wrong, and I have the good grace to know which is which.”

Reverend Sparrow rolled his eyes. “Oh, fuck off grasshopper!”

In one swift movement, he had pulled two small pistols from his cassock and was pointing them at her. Brienne didn’t have time to think before Jaime was in front of her, and then there were three shots of the Reverend’s gun and Jaime fell.

“No!” she yelled, bringing up her pistol to shoot at Reverend Sparrow. She hit him in the shoulder and he recoiled with pain.

“JESUS CHRIST!” he shouted, falling to the ground. However, Brienne didn’t really care. Jaime was lying at her feet, having taken three bullets for her.

“Jaime! JAIME!” she cried, crouching down next to him, cupping his head in her hands. He coughed a couple of times, before looking down at his chest, spotting three bullets lodged in his bullet proof vest. “I thought you were a gonner,” sighed Brienne, a wave of relief washing over her.

“It will take a lot more than that to get me,” he smiled. Overcome by gratitude, she leant forward to kiss him, but inches from her lips she heard a command.

“Drop your weapons!”

Both Jaime and Brienne looked up to see the source of the voice. Doctor Qyburn was walking around the corner, a hunting rifle held aloft. Even though his voice was as quiet as ever, there was a deathly chill in his eyes.

“Doctor Qyburn, no!” implored Jaime.

“Shut up Jaime!” hissed Qyburn. “I brought you into this world. I think it’s rather fitting that I should be the one to take you out of it. You and your _interfering little friend_. Now drop them!”

Brienne knew she had no choice. Maybe she would be able to convince him just to kill her, not Jaime. Jaime was a Lannister after all – it had to mean something. Carefully, she placed her pistol down on the ground. Jaime still had his rifle clutched close to his chest. The way he was looking at Brienne made her think he had a plan. In one fluid motion, Jaime threw the rifle in the direction of Doctor Qyburn. As it hit the floor, it discharged, at the resultant fire sent a bullet straight into Qyburn’s left foot, which exploded in an avalanche of blood and gore.

“AHHH!” he shouted, toppling backwards, losing his own gun in the process. Once he was down, he didn’t make another move to get up. Instead, he just tried to reach for his own foot, trying to stem the blood. “Owwww…” he moaned. “That. REALLY. Hurt.”

Brienne had no time for sympathy as she got to her feet, helping Jaime up with one hand. “You’re a doctor, deal with it,” she said.

“Yeah motherfucker…” responded Jaime, picking his rifle up from the floor and cocking his gun for the hundredth time that morning.

“Jaime, let’s roll,” Brienne said, turning to her partner.

“Where were you thinking?”

Brienne shrugged, casting her mind back to the place where Petyr Baelish and Mr Varys were most probably hiding. “I don’t know. Pub?”

* * *

 

 _The Inn at the Crossroads_ was eerily quiet by the time Brienne and Jaime made their way back there. “I think I saw Baelish and Varys go in here,” said Brienne cautiously.

“Come round this way,” said Jaime, signalling for her to follow. He directed her to stand at a distance from the pub, in a shrouded alcove of a nearby _TopShop,_  a place where they had cover. “We should be able to see what is going on in there through the window from here, without them spotting us.”

“How do you know that?” she asked, complying.

“You said so yourself once,” he smiled. “I basically live at _The Inn_.”

From the angle Jaime found them, they could see through the window what was going on in the pub. Luckily, it seemed that when Petyr Baelish and Mr Varys had entered _The Inn_ it had been quite empty, with the only patron being Sansa Stark. Consequently, the two NWA members had decided to set up shop behind the bar, forcing Pod, Masha, Pia, and Sansa to huddle in a far corner together with their hands up. The layout of the room being what it was, it was clear that while Mr Baelish and Mr Varys could not see Jaime and Brienne through the glass, the four civilians could. Masha and Sansa both wore the same slightly scared wide-eyed expression, looking from Jaime and Brienne to the bar and back again. Pia just kept mouthing “Jaime”. Pod took a different approach and tried waggling his eyebrows at Brienne, which she suspected was his poor attempt at trying to explain his plan to her.

“There’s four civilians in there,” said Jaime, lowering his gun. “How do we best approach this without them getting hurt?”

It was a difficult situation. “I think we’ve just got to charge through the door, guns blazing,” replied Brienne. “I think a rifle might be a bit much. Swap it for a pistol.” Taking Jaime’s rifle back off him, she shoved it back in its harness, before handing him one of the pistols from her holster. “Whatever we do, hopefully the four of them will have enough sense to duck and cover.”

Feeling the weight of the pistol in his hand, Jaime shook his head. “No. I think we need a momentary distraction.”

Sansa Stark let out a little scream when the board saying “3 SHOTS FOR A FIVER” came smashing through the pub door a moment later. When Brienne and Jaime followed it through by sideways leaping into the pub, shooting their pistols at Mr Baelish and Mr Varys, Pod thought he’d got lost and accidentally ended up in _Die Hard_. Even as Masha, Sansa, and Pia formed the much more sensible plan of upending a table to crouch behind, all Pod could think of doing was shouting, “YIPPEE KI-YAY MOTHERFUCKERS!”

As Mr Varys and Mr Baelish had not quite been prepared for the onslaught, they ducked behind the bar as Jaime and Brienne rained bullets down on them. On seeing there was a momentary cessation of fire, Brienne grabbed Jaime and pulled him back. Copying the others, they upturned another table for them to hide behind together. Once they were in place, Mr Baelish and Mr Varys began their onslaught, peering over the bar to take a couple of pot shots, sending a spray of splintered chair and table into the air. Jaime and Brienne would respond in kind but, unable to get the correct angle, most of their shots missed.

“Oi, that’s an antique!” screamed Masha, when Mr Baelish accidentally hit a huge deer’s head that hung over the fireplace. As one of the stag’s antlers fell off, Pod finally decided enough was enough and that the protection of the pub was his job. While the NWA, Jaime, and Brienne continued to exchange fire, he snuck over to a nearby tray of dirty glasses and began lobbing them in the direction of Mr Baelish and Mr Varys. The first couple missed, but on his fourth attempt, Pod managed to land one on Mr Varys’ egghead, and, when the glass exploded against his skull, the NWA’s coordinator dropped like a sack of potatoes.

At the loss of his comrade, Petyr Baelish jumped up in shock, leaving himself exposed. He turned his gun towards Pod, ready to fire. At that, Brienne didn’t miss her chance and sent two shots into his shoulder. “YOU FUCKER!” shouted Mr Baelish as he fell, dropping his gun as he did.

Not wanting to take any chances, Brienne was upon them in a moment. Dashing behind the bar, she confiscated both Petyr Baelish and Mr Varys’ weapons off them. The latter was still unconscious, but the former was spitting venom. “You meddlesome bitch,” he hissed. “Why couldn’t you just leave everything alone?”

Brienne laughed darkly. “Because that’s what meddlesome bitches do, Baelish – meddle.”

After using a bit of rope Masha had to tie barrels together to secure Baelish and Varys back to back, Brienne came back around into the main seating area. Jaime had put his gun down and was trying to comfort Masha, who was looking a bit shell-shocked, while Pia was grabbing hold of his arm, which he was trying to shake off.

“Are you alright?” said Brienne, as Pod and Sansa walked towards her.

“Yes,” said Sansa happily, “and all thanks to you.”

Brienne smiled. “And Sir Podrick Payne, here, the valiant knight who had to protect his pub.”

Pod went a deep shade of red. “It had to be done. It was my duty.”

“Maybe there’s a police officer in you yet, Pod,” said Brienne.

At that, Jaime came back over. “I think Masha is a bit upset,” he said, “she’s not used to seeing this type of violence, especially in her pub.” Concerned, both Pod and Sansa walked back towards the landlady, who was being patted on the back by Pia.

“I’m not surprised,” said Brienne quietly, “however many times I go over this story, it’s still fucking mad.”

“I know, wench,” he said, drawing close. His fingers were suddenly on her cheek and she was looking into his eyes – falling and floating – feeling all the worry and tension slipping away from her.

“FREEZE!”

And suddenly, the moment was shattered.

They were surrounded; the cavalry had arrived. Tywin led the way, two pistols raised, with the entirety of the Casterly Constabulary following, dressed in riot gear and clutching batons. All of them – bar the Chief himself – were wearing helmets, so it took Brienne a moment to find Margaery’s wide hazel eyes. As Jaime and Brienne had put down their guns momentarily to talk to the civilians, and then wasted precious time making heart eyes at each other, Tywin had managed to get them encircled. Even if they tried to fight their way out, they would be crushed in seconds. Joff woofed.

“Officers,” said Tywin, a snarl on his lips. “Arrest this woman! Jaime, step away from Sergeant Tarth.”

Brienne turned to Jaime, worried what he was going to do, but there was no need, as he was already speaking. “No. I won’t,” he said firmly.

Tywin looked astonished; Jaime had clearly never spoken to him that way in the entire time they had known each other. Taking a moment to compose himself, Tywin fixed his son with an icy look. “Jaime, I am your superior officer _and_ your father. You will do as you are told.”

Brienne felt Jaime reach for her, and she took his fingers in her hand, squeezing them supportively. It seemed to be enough to compel Jaime to say, “no. I’m not taking orders from you anymore.”

Tywin rage came out in icy fury. “Very well. Officers, arrest _both of them_. They are a danger to public safety!”

At that, Masha, Sansa, Pod, and Pia interrupted, all trying to say the same thing. It came out in a jumbled mess. 

"That’s wrong – they saved us…”

“It was Mr Varys and Mr Baelish…”

“I smashed a glass on his head…”

“Jaime came in looking like a badass…”

The cacophony of noise gave Brienne a moment to retake the narrative. Turning around to her colleagues, she looked at them all one at a time, trying to impress the gravity of the situation on them. For once, even Robb Stark was paying attention. “You can arrest us if you want,” shouted Brienne, even as Jaime shot her a panicked look. “You can throw us in prison and not listen to what we have to say and live your lives as Tywin’s blind submissive slaves if you want to. It’s what we were all doing – totally unawares – up to today. But this is your chance to be something better.”

The Hound lifted the visor of his helmet. “What the fuck are you on about, Tarth?”

Robb Stark copied him. “Yeah. What _are_ you on about?”

“I was right,” she announced triumphantly, “all these suspicious accidents were not accidents at all, but _murders_. Tywin and the NWA have been killing anybody who goes against their vision of Casterly, anybody who defies the Lannisters. The Baratheons dared to dream of two thousand new homes. Loras and Renly wanted to be avant-garde and out there in the amateur dramatics society. Lommy was a shoplifter. Beric tried to be a good reporter. Lancel threatened to move his business away. And Ned Stark found out about it all and needed to be silenced. Arya and I found his body down in the water wells.”

Robb Stark’s face went white. “Arya? My little sister? She found… my dad?”

“Yes, Robb,” said Brienne, regretting it had to be like this. “I’m sorry to tell you this way, but it is true. Go and ask her yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Robb’s face was ashen, an expression that was nearly matched by Margaery. “They killed Loras?” she asked quietly.

“There were no skid marks at the scene of the crime,” insisted Brienne. “Tywin and the NWA murdered Loras and Renly someplace else, then used their connections to put their bodies in Loras’ car and make it look like an accident. They have a sickening flair for the dramatic.”

There was a moment of silence, as the members of the Casterly Constabulary looked at one another, at Jaime and Brienne, and at Tywin, their Chief.

Seeing their colleagues’ incredulous faces, Jaime spoke up. “My father and sister love being in control; they could never countenance this village being anything other than how it’s always been – in the Lannister family’s pocket since 1066.” He turned back to Tywin. “But it’s time for that to end. Casterly belongs to all of us, and it’s about time you learnt that, father.”

The fact that his own son had accused him of a litany of crimes seemed to confirm the change of atmosphere in the room. As the picture of the village he had created started to disintegrate before his eyes, Tywin lifted his pistols, pointing them madly from one subordinate to another. “You are not seriously going to believe this woman are you? She isn’t even from round here!” His mad accusation lingered in the air, betraying the fact that Brienne was telling the truth, and that began to settle on everyone gathered in the pub.

“You killed Loras,” said Margaery, her voice equal parts accusation and ice. Tywin met her gaze, his eyes matching her tone.

Robb Stark followed her. “And my dad.”

Brienne’s heart was overtaken by a swell of gratitude for her colleagues, even Robb Stark. It was given physical expression when Ilyn gave Brienne a reassuring thumbs up. That feeling couldn’t be broken as Tywin turned his gaze to all of them – Ilyn, the Hound and Joff, Margaery, Jon, the Robbs, Jaime and Brienne who were holding hands – his guns darting between them. It was Robb Arryn who eventually broke the tension.

“Maybe it’s time to give it up, sir.”

At the final realisation that he had lost control over his own police officers, Tywin’s face went red with fury. “You incompetent flatfoots!”

Making a sound like a roaring lion, he lifted his pistol to shoot at the chandelier that hung in the middle of the pub. Jaime pushed Brienne back just in time as it came crashing down, smashing and projecting shards of broken glass across the floor. For the second time that day, Brienne was lying on the floor winded, but she didn’t really mind, because Jaime’s arm was slung around her waist, and she had people who believed in her. In the confusion, Tywin managed to slip away back out into the street.

Margaery came forward, lifting her visor before helping Brienne and Jaime to their feet. “Bloody hell, Brienne,” she said. “What the hell do we do now?”

Brienne pivoted on the spot, realising everyone in the pub was looking at her. She was in charge. Not wasting a moment, she leapt into action. “There’s a number of NWA members outside who need medical attention and to be arrested. Meryn Trant is unconscious next to the police car, Mr Pycelle is handcuffed to a bike rack up by the church, Reverend Sparrow is near him with a bullet hole in his shoulder, as is Doctor Qyburn, who is missing a bit of his foot. Sergeant Payne, why don’t you take Masha, Sansa, Pia, and Pod here and round them up? Along with Mr Baelish and Mr Varys of course, who are tied up behind the bar. We can have a few citizen’s arrests if needs be.”

Pod looked like all his Christmases had come at once.

“Then take them for processing in Lannisport.” She thought of Tyrion and Shae. “The police there should by now be aware of the situation.” Ilyn nodded and extended an arm to the new group of police officers, taking them over to Varys and Baelish in order to begin the arrests.

“What do we do, boss?” asked Jon.

“You can all follow me,” said Brienne, picking up the discarded pistols and giving one back to Jaime. “I’m sure Tywin and Cersei have many more fun and games planned for us.”

Not waiting a moment longer, the Casterly Constabulary, led by Sergeant Brienne Tarth, left _The Inn_. Tywin had clearly taken one of the police cars, as there was no sign of him, and the High Street was silent for the first time since Brienne had returned to Casterly. It seemed the High Street had finally been secured against the NWA.

“This way!” Brienne shouted, leading her little team up the road. When she got to the top of the High Street, she took them down a little dead-end alleyway that only contained a sleepy café and a hat shop. It was the perfect place for them to catch their breath.

“Detectives Stark and Arryn, Sergeant Clegane, and Constables Tyrell and Snow,” said Brienne, looking at her colleagues in turn. “I need you to cover us. Get in a line at the mouth of the alley and prepare to fight if any enemy combatants decide to approach.”

Joff woofed, as if in agreement.

“Do you think there are any more members of the NWA about?” asked Robb Stark, concern in his voice.

“No,” said Brienne honestly, “but we know that _Lannisters_ is one of the biggest employers in town. Cersei could have any number of lackeys we don’t know about.” Robb seemed to accept that explanation, so went to the mouth of the road and held his baton aloft. Robb Arryn joined him in a moment, along with the Hound and Jon.

“Shouldn’t we be going after them?” asked Margaery, still refusing to move, “instead of taking a defensive position?”

“Oh,” laughed Brienne darkly, “we will be, don’t you worry. I just need a moment.”

When Brienne turned her eyes to Jaime, Margaery picked up on what she meant. “Oh right,” she said, flexing her hand around her baton before going to take her position in line next to Jon.

“What do you want me to do?” asked Jaime.

“Put your gun down,” she ordered.

Not taking his eyes off her, Jaime tucked the pistol into his belt. By the time it was safely stowed away, Brienne was upon him. Shoving him back against the alley wall, she stuck her tongue down his throat with all the unbridled passion she could no longer keep at bay, holding him in place with her hands, and just let him melt into her. It was messy and over the top, but in that moment it was all she could do.

“Bloody hell…” grumbled the Hound.

Brienne didn’t care; she was with Jaime. Eventually breaking the kiss, she looked deep into Jaime’s eyes. “I just wanted to take the opportunity say yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.” He beamed at her and she couldn’t help but return the expression. “I want to be your girlfriend, I want you to be my boyfriend, because I love you and don’t want to spend any more time apart.” He let out a happy little laugh before pulling her in for another kiss, which she immediately broke. “And as much as I want to kiss you again, I also just want to get totally ahead of myself and say I think you are the one, and one day I want to marry you and have babies with you and I just love you so much, Constable Lannister.”

“Jaime,” he whispered, “my name is Jaime. And don’t worry, let’s get ahead of ourselves together.”

And then they were kissing like they weren’t in a tiny alleyway in Casterly with their baton-wielding colleagues standing a few feet away and the threat of armed lunatics bearing down upon them. They were in a different story. Wrapped up in each other, they were suddenly in a rom-com, with Brienne being played by Rachel McAdams and Jaime by Ryan Gosling. And there were swans, because there always must be swans in these types of films.

When it carried on a _little_ too long, Margaery spoke. “I mean, I’m so happy you two have finally opened your eyes and are in love and all,” she said, resolutely looking into the High Street. “But we’ve really got important shit to do.”

“Mmmm…” moaned Brienne, as Jaime flicked his tongue against hers in a way that made her realise she never wanted to stop kissing him.

The Hound spoke up next. “I agree with Margaery. Is now _really_ the time?”

“Mmmmmm…” hummed Jaime, only taking his hand from Brienne’s waist in order to give the Hound the middle finger.

“Oh, leave them to it,” said Jon, nudging Margaery. “We might all be killed by crazed cultists in the next ten minutes. Let them have a little bit of fun before we all die.”

Only that made Brienne break the kiss. Jaime let out a little grumble, before just changing tack and kissing her neck. “We are not all going to die,” she insisted, trying to ignore the pleasant sensations coming from Jaime’s insistent kisses on her skin. “We’re going to take the fight to them. We’re going to beat back the bastards.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” asked Robb Stark.

“I think it’s time we went to _Lannisters_ ,” said Brienne. “I’d like to speak to the manager.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnndddd I hope you enjoyed that. Yes, I shamelessly ripped off whole chunks of dialogue in this chapter, but the final fight in Hot Fuzz is just so goddamn perfect that it felt sacrilegious playing around with it!
> 
> As ever, please leave comments and kudos. I luuuuurrrrvvveee it!
> 
> Next time... Brienne, Jaime, and the Casterly Constabulary go to complain to the Manager...


	27. Here Comes the Fuzz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne, Jaime, and the Casterly Constabulary go shopping...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah god, this is so late. It's because I was intending the final fight to be one chapter, then two, then... And then I wrote a chapter that was longer than War and Peace and needed to cut it down, and then I cut things out and moved things around and...
> 
> Argh, anyway, here's the latest chapter. I hope you enjoy. As ever, comments and kudos really inspire me and make me happy, so, if you are enjoying my silly story, please leave them!

“So, Sergeant Tarth,” said Robb Stark with deference, “what’s the plan?”

Brienne took a moment to think. The supermarket had a more complex layout than the High Street, with no potential for funnelling enemy combatants or limiting conflict to a small area. It would be an all-out war zone if Cersei had packed the shop with her supporters. Luckily for the Casterly Constabulary, however, they had an untapped military genius on their side:

“We should strike now while we have the element of surprise, the longer we wait the more time they have to mobilise. I say we go through the front entrance and take the place aisle by aisle. They won’t be expecting that,” said Jon.

Everyone looked at him in surprise, before Brienne nodded and said, “very good. What he said.”

Brienne signalled to them all to follow and, taking a turtle shell formation, the Casterly Constabulary marched their way across the car park to the entrance of _Lannisters_. Reaching the set of stairs that led up to the shop, they moved as one, until they were all crouched to the side of the double doors, weapons raised.

“We should send a scout in,” suggested Margaery, “to check the place out and work out how many we are dealing with.”

“But won’t that ruin the element of surprise?” asked Brienne.

“Not necessarily,” concluded Jon. “If they are quick and quiet, we should be able to get a good idea of numbers and then prepare our attack more thoroughly.”

It seemed a fair plan, so Brienne looked around her colleagues, trying to decide who was the best person for the job. She thought it was most probably herself; she didn’t want anyone else getting hurt needlessly.

“I’ll go,” volunteered Jaime, cutting across Brienne’s thoughts.

“No!” came her automatic reply, as she grabbed his arm defensively.

“Why not?” Margaery asked, genuinely bemused. “He’s got his bullet proof vest on, and he’s got his pistol.”

“But you don’t have all the facts…” began Brienne.

“Which are?”

The obvious answer to Margaery's question was that quote from the US Office – BECAUSE I LOVE HIM – but Brienne didn’t think that would go down very well at that particular moment, so she said, “I don’t want to put any of you in danger when you don’t need to be. Jaime has already taken three bullets for me today. I’ll go.”

“No, wench,” said Jaime. “You’ve not got a bullet proof vest on; I don’t want you going alone. You’ll get hurt.”

“You could get hurt too, Jaime,” she parried. “And I’d rather take that bullet than you.”

“I’m not letting you take a bullet for me,” he insisted.

“Well I’m not letting you take a bullet for _me_.”

“Well I’m not…”

“For fuck’s sake,” grunted the Hound. “Just _go_ , Lannister, otherwise someone is going to notice five police officers and a German Shepherd crouched outside the supermarket watching two fucking idiots parroting the same phrase back at each other for half an hour, and I assure you, that will _really_ ruin the element of surprise.”

Brienne had to stop arguing then, because it was clear the rest of her colleagues thought it was best Jaime went. “Okay, but be careful,” she said, squeezing his arm in a way she hoped he found comforting.

“I will be,” he smiled, before leaning forward to give her a quick peck. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” There was a collective groan from the entire team then, before Jaime got to his feet, drew his pistol and walked into the shop.

Noticing Brienne’s panicked expression, Margaery said, “he’ll be fine babe. He’s a good police officer. He knows what he…” Brienne found herself being swept along by Margaery’s comforting words until five seconds later when, suddenly, there was a huge crash and Jaime was thrown through the glass doors, landing awkwardly half way down the steps, glass flying everywhere.

“Jaime!” shouted Brienne, quite forgetting herself.

He groaned in pain as he got to his feet. “Alright, there’s a lot of them. You guys take the shop. I’ll deal with the trolley boy.”

“Eh?” said the other six members of the Casterly Constabulary in unison, before the Mountain strode out of the shop, his eyes resolutely fixed on Jaime.

“Ooooooh!”

“Go!” shouted Jaime as the Mountain lurched towards him, fury in his eyes.

Knowing they had little choice – the element of surprise was well and truly lost – Brienne raised her pistol. “Follow me!” she said to the rest of her colleagues, and they obeyed without a word.

When the six officers (and Joff) entered _Lannisters_ , the place was eerily quiet, apart from the sounds of the Mountain and Jaime fighting outside. Surveying the scene, Brienne could see at least one trap had been set for them; the floor was glistening, and there were several “WET FLOOR” signs dotted around. Signalling for her to follow, Brienne and Margaery walked up the central aisle of the shop, keeping a watch out for any enemy combatants. If Jaime couldn’t play scout, at least they could.

“I was expecting more than this,” said Margaery, lifting her baton.

“Yeah, so was I.” replied Brienne, cautiously.

A moment after she said it, it was as if _Lannisters_ burst into life. Two surly looking butchers popped up from behind the charcuterie counter and started throwing meat cleavers and knives at them. Not feeling adequately prepared, Brienne grabbed Margaery and ran back down the aisle, meeting the others by the front door.

“What’s the situation?” asked Robb Stark.

“Two blokes and a fuckload of cutlery!” replied Margaery.

Before Brienne had time to make a plan, however, a big wheel of Gouda game flying across the shop from the cheese counter, whacking Robb Arryn square on the head. It was lucky he was wearing his helmet, otherwise he would have been knocked out cold. While avoiding more flying cheese, they tried to step back, but found themselves hemmed in by several shop assistants who were lifting wine bottles off the shelves and smashing them, turning them into dangerous weapons.

“What’s the plan?” asked the Hound, his voice rising.

Brienne and her colleagues all looked at each other a little nervously, before Jon said, “I have an idea.”

Thirty seconds later, the Casterly Constabulary had tied a group of trolleys together to use as a makeshift battering ram and, all holding onto it, were charging down the central aisle towards the charcuterie counter, screaming their heads off.

“AAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHH!” they bellowed collectively, as if they were all brave warriors in a battle for the dawn. The two butchers at least had the good grace to stop throwing meat cleavers and look a little horrified as the makeshift medieval war weapon flew towards them, but all expression was wiped off their faces entirely when Robb and Robb vaulted over the counter and punched them both squarely on the nose.

“That’s them dealt with!” said Robb Stark triumphantly. “What do we do now?”

“I think we should split up,” said Brienne. “We already know about the cheese throwers and the wine bottle smashers, there could be…”

Brienne didn’t get to finish her sentence, however, as there was suddenly a piercing scream. She turned around just in time to see Senelle running towards them brandishing a knife, her eyes resolutely fixed on Brienne. “TARTH!” she shouted, “CERSEI WANTS YOUR HEAD!”

_Well, at least I won’t feel guilty about this one,_ thought Brienne. _I’ll quite enjoy beating up one of Jaime’s exes… maybe he could watch._

However, Brienne didn’t have time play out this little fantasy. Margaery had picked up one of the WET FLOOR signs and, with all the force she could muster, slammed it into Senelle’s face. Cersei’s assistant dropped instantly and skidded back across the floor with a loud screech, totally unconscious.

“Thanks Margaery,” said Brienne a little breathlessly.

Margaery beamed at her. “That’s okay. No one can threaten to behead my bestie without me slapping her round the face with a big yellow sign.”

“Aww…” cooed Brienne, throwing her arms round her best friend. Totally lost in a _best friends forever_ moment, Brienne briefly forgot what they were meant to be doing. Of course, the Hound had bring them all back to earth.

“Tarth,” he growled. “The plan? You were saying we should split up.”

“Oh yes,” said Brienne, taking her arms off Margaery and seizing control once more. “I think we should go in pairs. Robb and Robb, you find a way to disarm our cheese throwing friends.”

“Yes sir,” said Robb Arryn, vaulting back over the counter.

“Margaery and Jon, why don’t you two go and size up our wine drinking buddies? Jon, you seem a quick strategist, perhaps you can come up with a plan for defeating them.” Margaery and Jon nodded in unison before jogging off in the direction of the drinks section. It was only the Hound and Joff left now.

“You, me and Joff are going to find Jaime. He’ll probably need some help with your brother.”

“That sounds like your best plan yet,” chuckled the Hound, wearing the happiest smile that Brienne had ever seen on him.

They instantly headed in the direction of the front doors where they had last seen Jaime and the Mountain. However, neither man was there and, in their place, they only found two aggressive looking trolley boys. This time, it was Joff’s turn to attack. Growling furiously, he went for the greasy spotty kid with the Mohawk, while the other ran off at his first glance at the huge, psychotic German Shepherd.

“Come on!” shouted the Hound. “Joff can look after himself. Let’s go this way. Maybe my brother and Lannister came inside.”

Brienne and the Hound jogged along the next aisle, and, halfway down, Brienne turned to the right. Finally, she found what she was looking for. The Mountain was in the condiments’ aisle, whirling round in a circle, roaring. Clearly, his fight with Jaime had moved inside.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” bellowed the giant man, spinning around like he was in a mid-2000s Kylie video. The reason for his distress quickly became apparent; Jaime was clamped tight onto his back, grabbing jars of Dolmio Bolognese sauce, Uncle Ben’s Chicken Tikka Masala, and Krinos’ Taramasalata from the shelves and cracking them down on Gregor’s skull. The Mountain whirled faster and faster as Jaime tried to hold on for dear life. Catching their breath, Brienne and the Hound just watched in sheer bemusement for a while.

“You do know that Lannister is a fucking idiot, don’t you, Tarth?”

Brienne smiled. “Yes,” she said, her voice warm with affection, “but he’s _my_ fucking idiot.” Brienne and the Hound spent a few more seconds watching Jaime’s disastrous attempt to bring the Mountain down before the giant man finally managed to propel Jaime off his back, sending him flying down the aisle.

“Jaime!” cried Brienne for the second time since they had been at the shop. Suddenly alarmed, she grabbed one of the pistols from her belt, preparing to shoot the Mountain dead for laying a finger on her man. Unexpectedly, she felt the Hound’s hand on her gun, lowering it.

“Gregor is a small piece of this puzzle. You’ve got bigger issues to deal with; namely, the blonde bitch who runs this place.”

“But what about you?”

The Hound shook his head. “Take lover boy and find Cersei, the rest of us can deal with the mess in here.”

“But…?” Her words had no effect as Brienne had lost the Hound’s attention, as he had turned to stare at his brother. Brienne was surprised to see a look of hatred in his eye.

“I promise you,” he said dramatically, “it takes a Clegane to bring down a Clegane.”

Not wanting to waste any more time, Brienne nodded and moved in the direction of Jaime, while the Hound shouted, “hey, Gregor, this is just between you and me!”

Time seemed to slow down as Gregor turned to face his younger brother. He only had one thing to say to that. “Yarp.”

Brienne reached Jaime just as the Hound headbutted Gregor. “Jaime, we’ve got to move. We’re going to find your sister.”

Jaime looked a little woozy from being thrown on the floor by the world’s strongest man, but he managed to get to his feet with Brienne’s help. “Do the others know where we are going? That we are not just leaving them?”

“The Hound does,” she said, just as the Mountain attempted to retaliate with a knee to the nuts. “It was him that told me to go, but if we see anyone else on the way out, we’ll let them know.”

As they ran down the fruit and vegetables aisle, they caught the two Robbs loading lots of pineapples, butternut squashes, and melons into a trolley.

“What are you doing?” asked Jaime, bemusedly.

“Improvising,” answered Robb Arryn. “We figured in the right hands these could make very nasty weapons. Pineapples beat Camembert, I think.”

It seemed Jaime agreed, as he gave an understanding little nod.

Brienne turned to Robb Stark. “Can you handle this Detective? We’re going after the big boss.”

“We’re on it!” said Robb triumphantly, chucking some prickly pears in the trolley for good measure.

Brienne looked at her partner. “Jaime, let’s roll.” However, before they could move, Robb Stark caught her arm.

“Brienne,” he said sincerely, “don’t go being a twat now.” There was something in his expression that indicated she had finally won his respect.

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” she replied, seeing that, when he wanted to, Robb Stark really knew how to kick some arse.

After Brienne and Robb nodded at each other one final time, she grabbed Jaime’s hand and together they ran towards the door that led to Cersei’s office. Gazing over her shoulder, Brienne took one look back at her team. Robb and Robb were busy throwing pineapples at the shop assistants behind the cheese counter; Joff had hold of a trolley boy’s ankle; Cleganebowl was reaching fever pitch in the condiments aisle, while Margaery and Jon were trying to avoid being swamped by a group of mindless _Lannisters_ employees in the icy wasteland of the frozen foods section.

“Come on, wench,” said Jaime, firmly. “If we take down Cersei, everything else crumbles. We need to go find my sister.”

She nodded and followed him down the hidden corridor that led to the Manager’s office, along a darkened passage and up a flight of stairs. Cersei’s office was just as Brienne remembered it from a few days previously - when she had attempted to arrest her evil blonde nemesis - but now there was something different. While everything was still in place, the window was open, and its sheer netting was fluttering in the breeze. Running across the room in order to look outside, Brienne quickly deduced what was happened. On hearing the commotion, Cersei had jumped out the window and was now running to a waiting police car, which was driven by Tywin Lannister.

“They’re trying to escape,” shouted Brienne, dropping Jaime’s hand in her alarm.

“No shit Sherlock,” he replied. “But we’re going to follow them.”

They heard the slam of the car door as Cersei got in next to her father, and Brienne could only watch as her Satan’s blonde spawn stuck her middle finger up at them as Tywin kicked the car into action.

“How are we going to catch them?” asked Brienne desperately.

Jaime looked out of the window, before turning around and grinning at her. “Skip,” he said simply, extending his hand towards her as he made to step up on the window ledge.

“What?” she asked incredulously.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Always,” she replied, taking his hand.

A moment later, she and Jaime jumped out of Cersei’s office window, hand in hand, landing in the rubbish skip below. It took some time to pull themselves out from the pile of binbags, but soon they were running towards their own parked police car.

“Do you want to drive or shoot?” asked Brienne as they ran towards the car.

“Shoot,” Jaime insisted. “The passenger’s seat is on the left; it gives me a better aim.”

In a moment, Brienne had revved the car into action, and they were bombing it down the road, trying to catch up with Tywin and Cersei.

“Pod would be losing his shit if he could see us now,” beamed Jaime. “We are bonafide action heroes!”

“No, we’re not,” laughed Brienne. “We’re the Fuzz.”

It didn’t take long to catch up with the King and his Hand, largely due to the portly (but slightly terrifying) Lollypop Lady Mordane who was ushering a group of children across the High Street, brandishing her lollypop at anyone who dared to break the twenty miles per hour speed limit. In the car ahead, Brienne could see Cersei repeatedly turning her head to look at them and, although she could not tell what she was saying to Tywin, Brienne was sure it was laden with expletives.

Therefore, the proper action and shit did not begin until they were safely outside the centre of the village, along the road towards Lannisport. “Aim for their wheels,” ordered Brienne. “If we can get them to pull over, it will be much easier to arrest them.”

“On it, boss,” said Jaime, rolling down the window. Sitting on the window ledge, he leaned out, giving him more room to shoot. The car in front responded in kind. Suddenly, Cersei appeared out the sunroof holding two massive handguns but, unlike Jaime, she seemed to be aiming for the driver.

“YOU BITCH!” screamed Cersei as she shot her gun directly at Brienne. Although Cersei was a terrible shot, she had one lucky hit taking out the driver’s wing mirror. Brienne couldn’t quite make out what she was shouting from then onwards, but she thought it was something like, “do you honestly think you can take Casterly away from me?” The reason Brienne couldn’t hear what the She-Devil herself was saying was because Jaime had started shouting himself.

“BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!” he yelled every time he shot his gun.

_Oh god,_ thought Brienne, taking her eyes off the road to look at the legs of the man she loved. _He’s bloody adorable… and he has really nice calves._

Jaime dived back into the car when it suddenly swerved. “Woah, Brienne. What happened? Did Cersei hit us?”

Brienne went bright red. This wasn’t the moment to tell him she had got distracted because she entranced by his shapely legs when she should have been focussed on the road. “Yeah, something like that,” she murmured, trying not to look at him in case she drove them off the tarmac.

“Eyes on the road, wench,” he said gently. She did as he told her, but then he leant across and pecked her on the cheek and the car swerved slightly once more.

“I thought you wanted me to concentrate on my driving!” she moaned, panic rising.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I just wanted to test whether I was your distraction. It turns out I am.” He sounded a little smug. “And, anyway, when I kiss you, you blush, and you are so cute when you blush.”

Brienne didn’t think that heart warmed and turned on were the two emotions one was supposed to feel when in the middle of a high speed pursuit, but luckily, she came crashing back down to earth when she heard Cersei shout, “YOU WHORE!”

“I think she saw us,” said Jaime, a hint of a laugh on his tongue. However, it was clear he was not in the mood for insults.

With Cersei changing tack, this time bellowing “YOU SLUT”, Jaime leant out the window once more, taking more pot shots at Tywin's car’s wheels.

“No one calls you a whore or a slut, my love,” he shouted, all the while shooting at his father's car.

_He must really love me,_ thought Brienne, amazed.

The ratio of heart warmed to turned on in Brienne’s chest swung in the former’s favour at Jaime’s noble defence of her, but, even so, she couldn’t help but say, “she might have been talking about you, Jaime. How gender neutral does your sister tend to be in her sex based insults?”

Jaime went to respond but, suddenly, Cersei disappeared back inside the car as it went screeching off the road, crashing through a fence and flying into the field below. Brienne slammed the brakes on. What had caused Tywin to drive the car so violently off the road? Only when their own car came to a complete stand still could Brienne fully comprehend what she was looking at.

“It… can’t… be…” she stammered.

“I don’t believe it…” said Jaime incredulously.

It seemed that Tywin had veered off through the fence to avoid hitting a large swan that sat in the middle of the road, which had an orange bill and a long neck. The very same swan, in fact, that Sergeant Tarth and Constable Lannister had once chased around the village while Jaime made honking sounds.

“Why would your dad veer off the road for our missing swan?” asked Brienne, confused.

“Well,” began Jaime. “All swans in Britain are owned by Her Majesty. It’s that sort of thing that my father respects.”

The swan seemed to be staring at them, almost saying “come get me, bitch” in swan language. Jaime was out the car in a moment, making his way towards their oldest and greatest nemesis.

“Be careful!” called Brienne, yet she need not have worried.

“Honk,” Jaime said quietly once he drew level with Casterly's longest standing fugitive. The bird looked up into his green eyes and, for a moment, Brienne truly believed that Jaime was in possession of an inner swan, because their favourite feathered criminal was suddenly calm. She let Jaime scoop her up in his arms and walk her back to the car, positively snuggling into his chest as she did so. Hurriedly, Brienne leant back and pushed open the back door, allowing Jaime to lower the swan into the backseat.

“Easy does it,” he said gently. “We’ll get you back to Gilly soon enough, girl.” Once the swan was safely perched on the seat, Jaime closed the door and returned to his position in the front.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting…” There was no time for Jaime to say anything else as Brienne had pulled him into a deep, slow kiss. Stroking his cheeks with her hands, she wanted to tell this impossible, adorable man who had lovely calves that she loved him, and she didn’t care if they had no time, that they should be chasing two murderers, and they were being stared at by a mute swan.

When their kiss ended, it was Jaime who spoke first, his words filled with affection. “Brienne,” he murmured, “our love has just been blessed by a swan. Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams would be so proud.”

Brienne laughed, “you are so sentimental sometimes.”

“All the time when it comes to you,” he said sweetly, pulling her in for another kiss that made her tremble at his touch. Soon, he brought his hand up to run his fingers through her hair and she kissed him more deeply, wanting him closer than she had ever let anyone before.

_Jaime,_ she thought.  _My Jaime._

It was only when the swan honked that Brienne remembered they were trying to bring down a conspiracy. “Jaime,” she said, breaking away. “We need to catch your father and Cersei. What is through that fence?”

Jaime turned his head, his hands still in Brienne’s hair. “Oh,” he said, squinting. “I think it’s the model village. It’s a replica of Casterly in miniature.”

“Of course it is,” said Brienne, almost thinking that fate and destiny were on her side. “What a perfect place for the final showdown.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! I love the fight in Somerfields in Hot Fuzz, so I hope I did this scene justice!
> 
> As ever, please leave comments and kudos (I lurrrrrvvvveee them).
> 
> Next chapter... Jaime and Brienne face off against Tywin and Cersei in the Model Village...


	28. A Model Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the final showdown...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter has been fairly speedy because this was originally one monster chapter with the last one. I probably won't be so quick with the next one, just FYI!
> 
> As always, I love comments, kudos, and to know how I'm doing, so please let me know if you are enjoying this silly story!

When Brienne and Jaime drove down into the Model Village, they discovered it was indeed a perfect replica of Casterly. Brienne could spot many of the buildings she knew and loved – the police station, _The Inn at the Crossroads_ , her flat, Jaime’s flat, the civic centre, St Alysanne’s – and they were all painted with such loving care. Somebody obviously updated it regularly, as Storm’s End was depicted as a smouldering ruin. The most impressive structure, however, was Casterly Rock, complete with its austere beauty and pointy crenellations.

As the car turned the corner, Brienne and Jaime got a view of the whole village. “I don’t remember the giant upturned police car out by Walder Frey’s farm,” joked Brienne, after seeing Tywin’s car had crashed over the other side of the Model Village. She turned to Jaime, expecting him to laugh, but his face was white. She suddenly remembered how insensitive she was being; Tywin and Cersei were Jaime’s father and sister after all. “I’m sure they’re alright,” she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Once they had parked the car, Jaime said, “come on. Let’s look for them.”

Casterly’s microcosm was eerily quiet. When Tywin’s car had crashed, it had broken the model of the fountain that stood in the park, and, consequently, a jet of water was spraying into the air. Brienne was careful to note that Casterly’s streets were filled with model cars and miniature people; it would be easy to trip if unaware. She had decided to leave the rifles in the car and only carried her pistol by her hip. Jaime did the same.

“I’m going to look in their car,” said Jaime, his voice quiet.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked, worried what he might have to face if he went alone.

“No,” he sighed. “If I go on my own, it’s probably a lot less threatening for them. They may freak out if they see you too. And we would rather it be an easy arrest.”

Brienne nodded, staggered by his professionalism. “Okay. I’ll scout the rest of the area, see what I can find.”

Separating from Jaime, Brienne made her way over to the massive model of Casterly Rock. Going around the back, she was amazed to see how accurate it was. She could see the long gravel drive she had been taken up when she first arrived for the NWA Party, the little hidden entrance to the water wells that she had come through on the night she discovered the truth, and even the Lannister’s huge triumphal column. At the top, there was a statue of their mythological ancestor, Lann the Clever, holding his sword aloft.

Seeing nothing suspicious, Brienne walked back round the huge stately home to be greeted by a horrible sight. Cersei had finally made her appearance. In her right hand she held Jaime’s pistol and she was pressing it into his temple. Her left arm was pulled tightly round his waist, while her chin was rested on his shoulder. Even though she carried a gun, there was still something strangely intimate in the way Cersei held her brother. Jaime seemed to recognise it as well, as there was an expression of disgust on his face.

Brienne drew her gun instantly, pointing it straight at Cersei’s gloating mug. “Let him go,” demanded Brienne. “If you hurt him…”

“You’ll do what?” Cersei laughed, pressing the gun firmly into Jaime’s head.

“I’ll rip off your stupid blonde head with my own hands and ram it up your bony arse.”

That caused Cersei to scoff. “Charming, Sergeant Tarth. But then again, you were never much of a lady, were you?”

“I don’t want to be a lady,” spat Brienne. “Not if it means being a psycho murdering bitch like you.”

Cersei smiled daggers. “Two more is all it would take. Two more deaths and father and I could be out of here, starting a new life somewhere else. And we’d take Casterly back one day, no doubt. A Lannister always pays their debts.”

Brienne kept resolutely looking at Cersei; if she looked at Jaime, she would be lost. “God knows you hate me, Cersei, but are you honestly trying to tell me you would kill your own twin brother?”

Cersei turned to look at Jaime. “Well,” she breathed, “he seems perfectly happy to have me and our father locked up for life in order to shack up with the world’s ugliest police woman, so it only seems fair to me.”

“That’s not true,” said Jaime, desperately trying to keep his voice level. “You are a _murderer_ , Cersei. This has nothing to do with Brienne. You are a cold hearted killer who plotted the deaths of innocent people because you didn’t like their house, or you thought they were a bad actor, or because they were dyslexic. I am just doing my job… you’ve brought this on yourself.”

Cersei’s smile darkened. “Oh, my sweet Jaime. Is this what you dreamt your job would involve? That great cow pointing a gun at my head while I point one at yours?” Knowing what an effect it would have, Cersei kissed Jaime gently on the cheek, and he recoiled as far as he could, given the fact she had a gun to his head. “We came into this world together. Perhaps it’s only fitting that we leave it together too.”

For moment, it looked as if Cersei genuinely intended to shoot Jaime in the head, but then there was a loud gunshot. Tywin had emerged from the wreck of the car and was pointing his gun at Brienne. Luckily, he had missed, and his terrible aim meant Cersei had jumped back in alarm. Jaime didn’t miss his chance and grabbed her gun, throwing it as far away from her as he could.

Brienne turned back to face Tywin, but there was almost no need, as Jaime was on him too. Rugby tackling his own father to the ground, they began to wrestle for his gun. Brienne almost wanted to cheer at how awesome Jaime was, but then she realised Cersei was looking at her with all the venom and hatred in the world, and she needed to defend herself if she was to see the next day. Instantly putting her gun in her holster, Brienne decided that this was going to have to be girl on girl.

Although Brienne had both a height and weight advantage over Cersei, it turned out the latter could fight like an alley cat. Pouncing, Cersei shoved Brienne into the row of shops that made up the Model Village’s High Street. _Biscuits for All Occasions_ was flattened by the force of the two women falling on top of it.

Grabbing Cersei’s enviable blonde hair, Brienne pulled great tufts of it out. So proud of her looks, Brienne knew this would hurt Cersei more than anything. In response, Cersei went for Brienne’s eyes, but Brienne managed to shove her backwards, hoping to destabilise her. However, Cersei had the core strength (probably due to Syrio’s dance class) to stay on her feet, meaning that she then had the vantage to rain punches and kicks down on Brienne. Still lying awkwardly on top of the ruin of _Biscuits for All Occasions_ , Brienne tried to move, but it was near impossible.

“GET OUT OF MY VILLAGE!” Cersei screamed, punctuating every word with another blow. Brienne tried to get up, tried to fight back, but Cersei’s fists and feet kept raining down assault after assault upon her. She did the only thing she could think of, which was to roll away, and when she was several feet removed from the blonde bitch, she was able to get a good view of the scene.

While Brienne and Cersei had been exchanging blows, it appeared that Jaime and Tywin had continued their fight. Although Jaime was lying on the ground, he had won the battle for the gun and was pointing it at his father. Tywin was standing over him, a cold look in his eye.

“You can’t do it, Jaime,” he said, his voice matching his expression. “You were never willing to be the man you were always meant to be. Too soft-hearted, too weak! I needed you to be _my_ heir, the _Lannister_ heir, and what are you? A snivelling one handed drunk who does whatever the latest piece of skirt he’s chasing tells him to.”

“I… I… I…”

“Well, are you going to shoot your own father?”

Even though it was, at most, a few seconds, time seemed to be going horribly slowly. Turning away from his son, Tywin shook his head in disappointment and then made his escape by running back across the Model Village. Jaime kept his gun trained on him; his brow furrowed in concentration.

 _Don’t do it, Jaime,_ thought Brienne wildly. _The price will be too much to pay._

And then Jaime rolled on his back and shot a spray of bullets into the sky. “AHHHHHHHHH!” he shouted. A wave of relief washed over Brienne; whatever his family were, whatever his father and sister were, Jaime never could willingly hurt those he loved. He was a better man.

At the sight of Jaime’s moral anguish, Brienne had momentarily forgotten all about Cersei, who was standing a few feet away ready to go for round two. However, some things were well remembered: Cersei’s order for Brienne to get out of her village was too much to bear. Brienne staggered to her feet. Bunching up her fists, she prepared to beat the crap out of nemesis.

“It’s not your village anymore,” she said quietly. It was the truth, but Cersei was loathe to hear it. Her green eyes alight with fury, she charged at her, her claws drawn. Brienne prepared for the onslaught; now she had a measure of her opponent, she was sure she could overpower her, sure she could win.

However, Cersei never reached her. In her haste to rain down vengeance on her enemy, Cersei had not noticed the miniature _Lannisters_ van lying on the road in the Model Village. Consequently, when she stepped on it, she slipped and was projected forwards very violently, and Brienne had to duck to prevent Cersei flying into her. She could only watch as Cersei flew over the model of Casterly Rock and, with horror, it quickly dawned on Brienne where Cersei was heading.

The triumphal arch, crowned with Lann the Clever, was ominously sharp.

Lann the Clever’s sword ripped straight through Cersei’s chin. As she had her head tilted back, in re-emerged through Cersei’s mouth, piercing her tongue in the process. It was lucky she was wearing her characteristic red, as a fountain of blood cascaded down her clothes. Even Brienne covered her mouth in horror; the film’s certificate had just been upped from a 15 to an 18.

“Owwwwwwww…” moaned Cersei, blood spilling everywhere. “This… really… hurts.”

Even though the scene was brutal and gory, Brienne had no time for her complaints, because Jaime was still lying in the middle of a miniature High Street in a moral quandary after all. Leaving Cersei impaled on Lann the Clever’s sword, Brienne dashed over to her love, who looked drained. As she helped him up, she realised his face was ashen.

“I couldn’t do it,” he said, his voice pained. “I couldn’t shoot my own father and now he’s escaped.” He looked haunted by guilt. “I’m sorry, Brienne. I’m not the officer you need me to be.”

She wanted no more of his self-loathing. Throwing her arms around him, she said, “don’t you dare say that. You have passed all my expectations and more. You are everything I need you to be, Jaime, everything I want.” Drawing back, she looked him in the eyes. “You couldn’t shoot your own father because you are human, and you have the biggest heart of anyone I have ever met. You couldn’t kill him because you are a good man. There is no need to apologise to me for that.”

He pressed his forehead against hers, taking her hand in his. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Their moment was broken by the sound of a revving car. Tywin was sat in the driver’s seat of the police car that Jaime and Brienne had parked on arrival at the Model Village. When they turned to look, he instantly kicked it into life, flying his way across the field as fast as he could. The further away he got, the further Brienne’s heart fell. They had been so close to shutting down this whole conspiracy, but now it seemed the King of Casterly was going to slip through their fingers. They had no way to chase him.

“We did as much as we could,” said Jaime gently, aware that Brienne was going to beat herself up about this for days afterwards.

“I know.”

They watched as Tywin tore across the field, disappointment rising, but then Brienne noticed that his driving was becoming slightly… erratic.

“What’s going on?” asked Jaime, confused.

They both realised at the same time.

“Swan!”

Brienne squinted to try and make out what was happening and, sure enough, it seemed that Casterly’s avian fugitive was busy trying to peck Tywin to death from her position in the backseat. Losing control of the car, Tywin swerved several times. While trying to regain mastery, he slammed the vehicle into a rather large English oak, sending a plume of smoke into the air. It was only then that Brienne knew it was all over. Tywinn had no more means of escape; no daughter to save him, no minions to cover anything up. There was no way out for him. The rule of the Lannisters was over.

Letting that realisation settle for a moment, Brienne said, “I feel like I should say something smart.”

She turned to look at Jaime, only to find he was already smiling at her. “You don’t have to say anything at all.”

And then she was kissing him, and nothing else mattered anymore.

* * *

 

Within half an hour, it seemed everyone and their mum had converged on the Model Village, trying to make sense of what was going on. Alongside the Lannisport Police, the paramedics had arrived on force, along with the BBC’s South West News (Brienne thought it would make a nice change from stories about escaped sheep), and most of the residents of Casterly, who just wanted to have a nosy. Brienne got separated from Jaime in the hubbub of activity and consequently decided to go around checking that everything was under control. She phoned Margaery, who told her excitedly that most of Cersei’s lackeys at _Lannisters_ were now under arrest, and that she and the rest of their colleagues were on the way to the Model Village to help with clean up and liaising with the Lannisport Police.

“How’s Jaime?” asked Margaery. “This has all got to be a big deal for him.”

Brienne squinted, trying to look for him. “I don’t know. We lost each other in the crowd.”

She could almost hear Margaery rolling her eyes. “Well _go find him_. Honestly, sometimes you two are so bloody frustrating.” Brienne attempted to do what Margaery had suggested but it seemed lots of people wanted to talk to her.

“Brienne!” called Arya, charging towards her, flinging her arms around her neck. “WE DID IT!”

“We did!” beamed Brienne. “And I couldn’t have done it without you. You were the only person in this whole town with the brains and smarts to try and work out what was going on.”

Arya blushed as she pulled away. “We did it _together_.”

“We’re a team,” said Brienne, holding her hand up for a high five. “Do we still high five in this day and age?”

Arya laughed, before whacking her hand on Brienne’s. “We can still high five in this day and age.”

“Good,” laughed Brienne, “I’m glad to know I’m down with the kids.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” chuckled Arya, “but you are definitely one of us local hoodlums now.”

“It’s an honour and privilege.”

Arya smiled. “Oh, have you heard? Jorah has turned up and is giving out free biscuits if you are interested. Shall we go and grab one?”

Although she would have liked to, Brienne had lots of things to do. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m trying to find Jaime.”

“Oh okay. I think I saw him a minute ago, somewhere over there,” Arya said, pointed vaguely in the direction of the mini Storm’s End. “He was talking to some woman.”

 _Some woman,_ thought Brienne, trying to suppress a pang of jealousy. _It better not be Pia…_

After talking to Arya, her search for Jaime became a little more insistent, but once again she was interrupted. Waylaid by a paramedic, Samwell Tarly, he insisted on giving her an enormous blue blanket and a mug of tea.

“I don’t need tea and a blanket,” she tried to say, looking for Jaime.

Sam sighed. “Sargeant Tarth, you’ve spent most of today in a gun battle. There is a very real danger of shock setting in. You need to stay warm and hydrated, and above all feel comforted. Tea and a blanket are very important.” He smiled at her, holding both out towards her, so she felt compelled to accept.

“Thank you.”

Samwell bustled off quickly – there were lots of things to deal with – and the slightly shaken sergeant was fairly low on his list. Stopping under a tree, Brienne finished the tea, and then went in search of Jaime again. She eventually found him standing by one of the ambulances talking to Obara Sand, her hand on his shoulder.

“Obara?” said Brienne incredulously. They hadn’t seen each other since Brienne had left London for Casterly what felt like a lifetime ago.

Obara didn’t turn to look at Brienne but kept her dark, ravenous eyes on Jaime. “Ah Brienne,” she said disinterestedly, “I was just talking to Constable Lannister here, I assume he’s your…”

“Police partner,” said Jaime.

“Boyfriend,” interjected Brienne, sliding her arm around his waist. He positively beamed at Brienne for that.

Obara’s expression changed dramatically; from interest, to surprise, to something approaching horror. “What?” she said, her mouth agape. “He’s going out with you?” Brienne knew what Obara was trying to say; _what, that hunk of a man is going out with_ you, _ugly Brienne Tarth?_

Brienne was about to say something, but Jaime beat her to it. “Yeah,” he said, giving his girlfriend a little squeeze. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve her.”

Brienne only realised she’d been kissing Jaime a _little_ too long when Obara let out a small cough. Recovering herself, Brienne asked, “what are you doing here?”

Obara did not answer, however. Instead, it was Oberyn who spoke after he appeared by Obara’s side carrying two mugs of tea. “We got your email, Constable Tarth.”

" _Sergeant_ Tarth,” corrected Jaime, before looking at Brienne. “What email is he talking about?”

Brienne was momentarily confused, but then she remembered the desperate email she had sent Oberyn from a service station outside Basingstoke, when she thought she could never return to Casterly and would never see Jaime again. “Oh, you mean the one I sent you the other day? About sergeant positions in London?” Feeling Jaime tighten up beside her, Brienne tried to reassure him by giving him a consoling rub on the hip.

“Yes,” said Oberyn. “That’s the one. After I heard what was going on down here, I decided to come and ask you in person. The figures have been haywire since you left; arrests down sixty percent, hours on the beat down twenty. It takes us double the time to do any of the paperwork.”

“What are you asking me, Oberyn?” said Brienne.

He gave her an expression that suggested he thought she should think it obvious. “Come back to London. Casterly is hardly fitting for such an exceptional officer as yourself, with your talents.”

During her first days in Casterly, when she was trapped in the middle of an awkward crush and had the world’s most irritating police partner, Oberyn’s offer would have been music to Brienne’s ears. Now, however, she could evaluate her time in London clearly. Looking back on it, she could see it for what it was; a miserable, depressing part of her life when she thought that no one cared about her and no one outside of her Dad loved her, with a few exciting cases thrown in. She turned to gaze at Jaime, who genuinely looked worried at the prospect of her leaving. On what planet would she ever give up him and her life in Casterly for the excitement of police work in London?

“Nah,” she said. “I’m alright. I think I’m going to stay in Casterly. I quite like it here.” Jaime gave her a relieved little smile, that she answered with a kiss. “And if you don’t mind, Oberyn, my partner has had a very tough day. I think he could do with a cup of tea.”

* * *

 

Once Brienne had extricated Jaime from Oberyn and Obara, she walked him across the Model Village looking for Samwell Tarly. “There’s a very real danger of shock setting in,” she said, concerned. “Apparently it’s very important to feel comforted. We should go find Sam. He’ll get you a blanket and tea.”

“Or,” Jaime began, smiling teasingly, “we could go and sit on that bench over there and I could share _your_ blanket. Then we could have a little cuddle. That would make me feel comforted.” Brienne realised she quite liked that suggestion, so, together, they walked over to the bench and sat down next to each other, him on her left. While she wrapped the blanket around them both, he pulled her into a close embrace.

Once they were snuggled up together, Brienne asked jokingly, “how do you feel? Comforted?”

“Of course,” he said, giving her a little squeeze, before his voice turned serious. “But also an overwhelming sense of pride that you have finally made me the police officer I always wanted to be. Thank you for that, from the bottom of my heart.”

His wide-eyed sincerity compelled her to lean in and kiss him, but when they broke apart, she said, “you were always the police officer you wanted to be, you just had to remember.” She could see that had touched him, so she rubbed his nose with hers. “Anything else?”

He looked a little guilty. “Oh, really turned on by the way you wielded that gun”.

“You are impossible,” she said, laughing. “We’ve been in a massive battle all day, and all you can think about is how sexy I look.”

“What? And you’ve not been thinking about how sexy _I_ look?” She flushed red, knowing full well she had. “I know you, wench,” Jaime laughed, “you can’t resist my milkshake.”

“Yes, I can.” she said, almost as a challenge to herself.

“No, you can’t. And you don’t want to,” he responded, pulling her in for another kiss. Hidden underneath the blanket, Jaime felt sufficiently comfortable enough to run his fingers along the tender line of skin that peeked between the bottom of Brienne’s vest top and the top of her skinny jeans. When she let out an appreciative little moan at that, he ventured higher, slipping his hand underneath the material and running it upwards across the flat plane of her belly. She broke the kiss to say his name warningly, but that just made him smile and start sucking at the unbearably tender patch of skin behind her ear. When that made her shiver, he seemed to lose all inhibitions, and he lifted his hand to his target – her right breast, catching the nipple in between her fingers. Brienne let out a little gasp, and he began to tease it with little pinches and caresses.

“You are such a bad girl sometimes, wench,” he whispered in her ear, mischievously. “Riding into battle not wearing a bra. _Tut tut._ If I didn’t know any better, I would say the whole of today was just an exercise in getting me so hot for you that you could just use me in whatever way you wanted when you finally, _finally,_ got me into your bed.”

“Jaime,” she mumbled admonishingly, “I was on a case…”

He grinned at her teasingly, “use that as an excuse if you want, but I know you. You like dressing up as a badass and pushing people around because you know what it does to me.”

Once more, he was winning with his words, just like he used to at the beginning, so she tried to parry him. “Oh, and what’s that?” Raising an eyebrow at her, he dropped his hand from her breast in order to lift her free hand onto his crotch. It felt very… hard.

“It makes me wish you were pushing _me_ around.”

Fixing him with a sultry look, she decided it was time for a little payback. He let out a little groan as she began to rub him through his trousers, and she enjoyed the way he responded to her touch. In return, Jaime placed his hand back on her breast and began to squeeze her more firmly; Brienne was sure she was going to bruise, but considering she was already covered in bruises, she was glad this one would give her a little pleasure. It felt so nice. Even as her temperature was rising, she was conscious of everything that was going on around them, but, not wanting to stop, all she could do was wrap the blanket tighter around them and hope that the paramedics, the news reporters, and the nosy civilians who kept walking past didn’t notice that they were both red faced and panting, and that Jaime was whispering scandalous things into her ear.

“If you want, I could finger you right here. I don’t care who sees us. You’ve saved me so many times today and I want to say thank you, and what better way than making you come?” Brienne looked round nervously; he might not care, but she did. Jaime acknowledged her expression and tried to be reassuring. “No one will notice. They don’t care what we’re doing. And anyway, if you don’t want people to spot us you’ve just got to promise to be quiet. It might be hard though, because I’m intending it to be pretty mind-blowing.”

“And you accuse _me_ of being a bad girl?” she huffed, “when you’re the one suggesting public fingering?”

Jaime laughed quietly, “we’re under a blanket, wench. I don’t think that counts as _public fingering_. Think of this blanket as an invisibility cloak.”

“But it’s bright blue.”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Use your imagination.” At that, he started kissing her neck, all the while continuing to play with her nipple. God, this man was insufferable sometimes, but even so, she wanted him. Catching his wrist, she removed his hand from her breast and put it between her thighs. He laughed more at that, and then began rubbing her through her clothing, mirroring what she was doing to him.

As he turned his head towards her, she demanded, “kiss me” and he obliged willingly, letting her bite at his lip as they did so. Brienne turned up the intensity of their kiss; she was so ready to be with him now, that she wanted to give him a taster of what was to come later. Momentarily lifting her hand from his crotch, she undid her own flies, and he immediately responded by diving his hand into the tangle of her pubic hair. His fingers had just started exploring her when…

“If you two have had enough of heavy petting, we’ve got a fuckload of paperwork to do,” said Robb Stark, appearing in front of them along with Robb Arryn.

Jaime reluctantly broke the kiss in order to grimace at him. “Thanks Robb, but if you could just give us a _few_ more minutes...” It seemed it was not to be, however, as it appeared the Casterly Constabulary wanted to do a co-ordinated cock block, as they all hoved into view.

“Processing this lot is going to take hours,” complained Margaery. “The system is probably going to crash.”

“I don’t know how to spell Qyburn… or Pycelle,” said Jon, “can somebody else do their reports?”

“Not me. I’ve had Gregor punch me multiple times in the head. I think I’ve forgotten how to _write_.”

Brienne sighed, taking Jaime’s hand out of her pants and zipping up her flies. He looked at her reproachfully. Brienne tried to ignore him.

“I think it’s time we all went back to the station. Robb’s right; we’ve got a lot of paperwork to do.” Pulling herself away from Jaime, she got to her feet. She could see him pouting at her, so she turned and wrapped him more tightly in the blanket. Once their colleagues had started heading off in the direction of the police cars, Jaime looked up at her.

“The paperwork is going to take hours,” he said, a little sadly.

“I know,” she replied, stroking his cheek, “but after that, I’m _all yours_.”

He smiled. “I like the sound of that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the final fight scene and my crappy smut! If you did, please leave me comments and kudos, as always, I love it!
> 
> So, it's probably time to mention that there are three chapters left of this fic. Hot Fuzz kinda has this weird little epilogue after Nicholas and Danny take down the cult and I want to do my own version of that. Also, I think given all the over the top angst I've put them through, it's time to see Jaime and Brienne as a couple for a bit!
> 
> Next chapter... Jaime and Brienne finish their paperwork.


	29. Netflix and Chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne finish their paperwork...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh. So... I've delayed in putting this chapter up because I'm crappy at smut, but it's here! I hope it's not too terrible! I wanted to give them a scene that seemed true to their relationship thus far, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> If you are not here for the smut, but for the silly jokes, only read down to the first black line.
> 
> As ever, please leave comments and kudos telling me how you think this is going! (I would be especially appreciative with this one, because I've never really written smut before and people wanted a sex scene!)

“Done!” said Robb Stark, throwing down his biro. “Every one of those lunatics is processed. We’ve handed them over to the Lannisport Police Service, and their Chief Inspector has promised to cover for us so we can all take it easy tomorrow. What a result.”

“Yes,” agreed Robb Arryn, “I really need a drink. Does anyone fancy the pub?”

There was a rumble of agreement, but then the Hound spoke up. “It’s a great plan, but we’ve still got one more thing to deal with.”

“What’s that?” asked Margaery.

“Well,” said the Hound, taking a dramatic pause. “We currently don’t have a Chief Inspector, and unless we pick one ourselves Central Office will parachute in some idiot who doesn’t give a crap about Casterly.” Realising that the Hound was right, Brienne peered round at her colleagues. An uneasy silence pervaded the room as the eight of them looked at one another; the hierarchy had always been so clear that it was difficult to disrupt it.

“Well, Ilyn is the oldest,” suggested Jon. “Maybe it should be him.”

They turned to the silent sergeant, only to find him furiously shaking his head in refusal. But if not Ilyn, who?

Robb Arryn spoke up next. “Robb’s the most senior officer out of everyone here.”

Robb Stark laughed. “Yeah. And the laziest. I don’t want that kind of responsibility.”

“Well I think it’s obvious,” said Jaime. Everyone turned to look at him, but he only had eyes for one person. “Brienne.”

“Me?” In her shock, the word escaped her before she had consciously thought of it. Jaime just smiled at her, and she felt trapped in his green eyed gaze, but it was so supremely wonderful that she didn’t know what to do or say. She could only look at him in silent wonder, thankful.

“You’re only saying that because you’re banging her,” said Robb Stark.

Jaime fixed him with a contemptuous look. “I am _not_. I’m saying it because she’s the best person for the job.” Jaime finally turned away from her, releasing her, and looked around at the rest of their colleagues. His tone was business-like, and she thought he must be unaware by how overcome by love and affection for him she felt.

 _Not only does he love me,_ she thought, _he respects me professionally._

It was almost too much.

“Did any of the rest of us spot that all those mysterious accidents were a string of murders?” Jaime began. “Or that there were no skid marks at the Baratheon-Tyrell collision? What about Lommy Greenhands? None of us bothered to conduct our own investigations into his disappearance. But Brienne did. Brienne was the only one who was utterly convinced there was something dark at the heart of Casterly, and she pursued it relentlessly, like a great copper should do. She refused to believe Storm’s End was a gas explosion, sniffed out evidence after Beric Dondarrion’s death, and chased masked murderers from the churchyard and then from Lancel’s shop. And once she had all that evidence, she fought the Mountain and tried to arrest a whole group of killers on her own.”

“Some people would call that crazy,” muttered Robb Arryn, but Jaime’s ferocious expression shot him down.

“And then to top it all off, she rode into town on a horse like the sexy badass she is to shoot the place up and save the whole village.”

“ _Sexy_ was a bit unnecessary there,” said the Hound, but Jaime ignored him and continued.

“She persuaded you all that my father was a corrupt murderer, and then organised us all so we could bring down his reign of terror forever. If that doesn’t make her qualified to be Chief Inspector more than Ilyn, or Robb, or anyone else, I don’t know what does.”

As Jaime’s words sunk in there was a moment of silence. Brienne tried to thank him silently, tried to make him feel all the love she had for him in a single gaze. He just smiled at her, his green eyes shining.

The silence was finally broken by Margaery. “I agree. I vote for Brienne.”

“I do too,” said Jon.

Ilyn raised his hand, nodding and smiling, before the Hound said, “alright Lannister you’ve persuaded me.”

Joff woofed, and then Robb Stark smiled. “I vote with the dog.” As they never did anything independently, Robb Arryn agreed too.

It was unanimous.

“So,” said Jaime. “I guess that makes Brienne our new…” He didn’t get to finish his sentence, however, because Brienne had stuck her tongue down his throat in gratitude and amazement, wrapping her arms round him in order to say thanks in the only way she could in a moment when her words had deserted her. Jaime reciprocated in a second, his hands in her hair, sucking at her bottom lip.

“Oh for fuck sake,” said the Hound, getting to his feet. “I’m going to the pub.”

“Us too,” said the Robbs in unison.

Brienne broke her and Jaime’s kiss to speak to them all, while he kept his arm around her waist. Blushing, she said, “I thank you all for the confidence you have in me. I will try to be the best Chief Inspector I can.” Her colleagues nodded at her and through their expressions, she knew that they believed her. “As Robb said, Lannisport have agreed to cover our arses tomorrow, so we can all have an easy day. However, I think it’s best we all endeavour to come to work tomorrow, even though we are all exhausted. I promise you all that I won’t make anyone go on patrol.”

Jon raised his hand, “and no more crazed shop assistants. I can’t take it.”

Brienne laughed. “I promise.”

With that, her colleagues went to head to the pub.

“Are you coming?” asked Margaery, turning to Brienne.

“I don’t think so,” Brienne smiled, squeezing her boyfriend tightly. “I’ve got some things to work out with Jaime.”

Margaery beamed at them both before stepping close, so nobody else could hear. “Practice safe sex!” she whispered to Brienne. “And tell me all about it tomorrow. As I’ve said before, I will whoop his ass if he was anything other than the utmost gentleman.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes at Margaery. “Margaery, you underestimate me. Brienne won’t be in any fit state to discuss anything until at least the day after tomorrow, or more probably next week.”

Brienne turned to face him. “You’re setting yourself high standards there, Lannister. I might have to hold you to them.”

“Try me,” he laughed.

* * *

 

It was a little quiet between them as they walked back to her flat, even though they were holding hands. Brienne was a little unsure as to why; she knew Jaime was happy about what was going to happen, that _she_ was happy. This silence was new. Eventually, he broke it.

“About what Robb Stark said…”

“What did Robb Stark say?” she asked quizzically.

He turned to look at her, “that I only suggested you for Chief Inspector because I’m banging you…”

Brienne cut him off with a smile and a squeeze of the hand. “I know that wasn’t the reason you said it.”

He looked relieved. “Good… because I truly meant it.”

“I don’t doubt you for a moment,” she smiled, before fixing him with a teasing gaze. “But there’s also the fact that you are _not_ banging me. We’ve banged a grand total of once, I don’t think that counts as banging.”

He laughed. “Well, if you walk a bit quicker, wench, we can soon correct that problem.”

Brienne then decided to walk in slow motion to wind him up.

“Don’t think I won’t throw you over my shoulder and run all the way back to yours,” Jaime said. “I’m strong enough.”

“Oh, are you?”

It turned out to be half true. Although he could pick her up and easily carry her in his arms, the running proved a bit difficult, especially when Brienne tried to make herself as much of a dead weight as possible.

“You are evil to me, wench,” he laughed.

“I try!”

He didn’t put her down even when they got to her front door, and she had to try and put her key in the lock with one arm wrapped round Jaime’s neck.

“Can you try squatting?” she asked, trying to put the key in the door. “I’m up a bit too high.”

“Are we discussing positions now?” he joked, “because I’m definitely in favour of you on top.”

After she rolled her eyes at him, he laughed and put her down as she started to fumble around with the lock.

“Fuck,” she hissed. “I’m sorry, it’s a bit stiff.”

“Like me,” he smirked.

Her concentration levels were not improved when Jaime put one hand on her arse and started squeezing gently. As she got the key in the lock, she turned around to face him.

“Jaime! Do you want us to get inside my flat or not?”

“Of course,” he said lightly. “I’m just getting you warmed up.”

Brienne stared at him for a moment, a bubble of fear rising in her chest. Once she walked through this door, there was no going back. As if sensing her apprehension, Jaime leant forward and put his hand on top of hers, turning it so the lock clicked open. At the sound, the realisation of what was about to happen seemed to settle on both of them.

“Ah, shit,” he said suddenly. “I don’t have any condoms on me.”

“I’m on the pill,” she said quickly, before dropping her eyes to the floor. “And anyway, I want the full Jaime Lannister experience.” She felt herself blushing at how forward she was being, but her embarrassment subsided somewhat when she felt Jaime’s fingers on her chin. He tilted her face upwards so he could look her in the eye.

“And I want the full Brienne Tarth experience,” he said, before kissing her.

They kissed until Jaime pushed Brienne back against the front door, forgetting he had already unlocked it, meaning the two of them almost tumbled into Brienne’s flat. Their predicament was not helped by the fact that Jaime seemed totally unwilling to break their kiss, not even when she pushed him away in order to stand up straight and close the door.

“Playing hard to get as usual, I see,” Jaime smirked.

“Never,” she said, but Jaime was having none of it. Soon, she was fighting an onslaught of his kisses once more as he slowly backed her towards her bedroom door. Not wanting a repeat of their tumble across the threshold, Brienne pulled away once they got to her bedroom, opening the door wide to allow him to step inside. For all the eagerness, all the desire, all the aching longing that had been building up over weeks and months between them, once they were finally in Brienne’s bedroom, both of them fell silent.

 _Oh shit,_ she thought. _This is finally happening, and I don’t have a cranberry mojito to help me._

She needed something to take her mind off Jaime’s insistent, lusty eyes, and all she could think of doing was helping him take his armour off. “Here,” she said gently, “let me help you with your bullet proof vest.” Turning him around so he wasn’t looking at her, she started at the clips on his back, while he did the ones on his front.

“You are so thorough,” he said admiringly. “I normally don’t bother with the ones on my back.”

“Well, you should. That’s what the manual says.”

“You’ve read the manual?” he laughed, as Brienne pulled it off his shoulders.

“Of course,” she said, as she rested the vest on an armchair behind her. “It’s police equipment after all.”

Jaime went to turn around to look at her but, not quite ready to face him yet, she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her body into his. “I love you,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. Brienne wanted him to know that so, even if she was a disappointment, she would have some small thing in her favour. She locked her hands together on his chest, just above where his heart was, feeling it beating.

“I love you too,” he said, placing his hands on top of hers. They stayed like that for a little while, before Brienne couldn’t resist the heat and smell of him anymore and started kissing his ear, teasing it between her teeth. He let out a half-satisfied, half-aroused moan at that. “What are you doing, wench?”

She repeated some words back to him that he had used their first time together. “Something nice.”

Brienne moved her lips from his ear to train kisses down his neck, but found her path obstructed by his collar. Removing her hands from under his, she began to unbutton his shirt, taking the time to let her fingers run across his skin whenever she touched him accidentally. Jaime moved to help her, pulling at the lower buttons with one hand. “Let me do it,” she murmured. “I want to undress you.”

He turned around in her arms so he was facing her, and then just let her take his shirt off. Liking how easily he acquiesced to her touch, she ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, and eventually across his taut belly and burly pecs. “You’ve got a cut just there,” she said, running her thumb over the red line close to his right nipple.

“Have I? I hadn’t noticed.”

She bent her lips to it, kissing it gently. “And a bruise, here.” She kissed that too.

When she looked back up at him, she could see the desire in his eyes, and she let him pull her into a deep kiss. He urgently sought her tongue with his and ran his hand through her hair, pulling it tight so it hurt ever so slightly. She pulled back, putting a small piece of distance between them by sucking at his bottom lip. Jaime could only stand that for so long before he parted her lips again, plundering her mouth with his tongue and kissing her furiously as if it would save his life. It was only when she started tugging at his prosthetic that he broke the kiss.

“Brienne, I…”

“Shhh,” she said gently. “Let me.”

He didn’t fight her as she removed the prosthetic and threw it on the bed, nor when she began to run her hands over his stump.

“It looks sore.”

“It’s fine,” he said, trying to pull her in for another kiss.

“No, it’s not. Sit down on the bed. I’ll be back in a moment.” She said it with enough authority that he complied. Returning from the ensuite bathroom not long after, she had some lotion and a little cloth to make application easier, and she sat down beside him on the bed. His eyes were big, wide, and so very green.

“What…?”

“I want to look after you,” she said gently. “You’ve had a hard day, and the prosthetic has made your skin a little red. I want you to be comfortable when… when…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the words – _when we make love_ – so just began rubbing lotion into his skin with the little cloth. Jaime was silent and watched her do it, his hand on her cheek, running his thumb gently along her cheekbone. When she put the lotion and the cloth back on the bedside cabinet, Jaime finally made his move. His hand skirted down her neck and under her collar, and she could tell he was trying to persuade her to take her leather jacket off. It might not have been bullet proof, but it was still her armour, so she flinched away from him.

 _I’ll make him feel good,_ she thought. _He doesn’t need to see me… not yet anyway._

“Take your clothes off,” she ordered him. “Slowly… we’ve got all the time in the world, so I want to make sure we enjoy this.”

“But I can see you worrying,” he said gently, trying to pull her close. “Come here…” His eyes were so full of a heady mix of desire and concern that she almost couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“I’m not worrying,” she insisted, pulling away, even though it was a lie. “I just want to see you naked.”

He smiled at her, but it was slightly doubtful. “If that’s what you want.” Getting to his feet he kicked off his shoes and managed to awkwardly take off socks, before stating, “I’m a poor cripple, I’ll need some help with my belt.” Tentatively lifting her hands up, she undid the belt, all the while looking into his eyes. He was already hard for her, she could tell and, not wanting to get him more excited at this early point, she dropped her hands once she had discarded his belt.

“You tease,” he smiled as he undid his flies and pulled his trousers off, which were immediately followed by his boxers. The last time she had seen him naked, she had been a little bit drunk and overtaken by a flood of emotion. This time, although she was pained from a long day’s battle, she was also consumed by a warm, pleasant ache for him. He was so very handsome; his body was all muscle and sinew and hidden power, a patchwork of coiled strength and beauty. And he was so very hard for her.

“Brienne,” he whispered, gazing into her eyes. “Touch me.”

Getting to her feet, she put the tips of her fingers on his lips, which he kissed delicately, then lightly on his Adam’s Apple, which bobbed in his throat. Then, she began slowly journeying down his body; down his neck, across his broad chest, down the line dividing his muscles, over his belly button, and through the faint trail of gold hair that led downwards, ever downwards. His cock twitched as she drew lower, and the sight caused her to withdraw her hand.

 _Not yet,_ she told herself.

A blush came to his cheeks as she withdrew. “Is everything alright?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said breathlessly. Brienne put one hand on his chest, before beginning to walk around him slowly, her fingers tracing patterns on his skin. He let out a little gasp as she lowered her hand to his hip, moving it slowly towards the place he wanted her to touch him.

 _Not yet,_ she told herself again. _I want him to know very beautiful he is._

“Surely, it’s your turn now…” he pleaded, but she just shook her head. Standing behind him, she scooped her arms around him and ran her hands down his chest… slowly… tantalisingly… while she gently kissed his shoulders. She could hear his breathing become heavier.

“Have I ever told you that you are really sexy?”

He let out a ragged laugh. “No.”

“Well you are. It should be a crime.”

There was a nasty bruise forming on his back, probably from one of the multiple times the Mountain threw him around in the shop. She got on her knees in order to kiss it, before turning him around, trying to ignore his insistent hardness, kissing him all the way up the panes of his strong chest, the lines of his neck, before covering his mouth with hers. She broke the kiss and ran her hands all over him. “I think about what’s under your clothes all the time. Your chest…” her fingers danced over his nipples, “your arms,” she stroked his biceps, “and you have such a nice arse,” she said, reaching out to squeeze the bunched muscles. He was hissing now. “Especially when you are wearing your uniform. God, I love you in your uniform… and out of your uniform.”

At that, he pulled her flush against him, kissing her furiously, thrusting his hardness against her thigh, demanding, wanting. Brienne knew he desired her, could sense the insatiable fire that was overwhelming him. Something inside her wanted to keep it at bay for just a bit longer; there had always been something intensely delicious about the overwrought longing they had engaged in, after all. Brienne pulled away slightly.

“You are so handsome,” she whispered, inches from his lips, offering him the truth on her tongue.

“And you are so beautiful, my love,” he mumbled against her jaw, lacing it with kisses.

Her heart fell. Here he was – naked, attractive, wonderful – while she was still dressed, hiding. Even as he rained kisses upon her, she whispered, “you don’t have to lie to me you know.”

Jaime pulled away, looking a little sad. “You still doubt me?”

“Never,” she said, earnestly. “It’s just I’m currently dressed like a sexy biker chick. I’ve got my best game face on.”

Jaime kissed her on the cheek, before taking her hand and wrapping it round his hardness. “This isn’t for some random sexy biker chick,” he moaned, the feel of her hand making him shiver. “This is for you, Brienne, the woman I am in love with. I want _you_. I want _us_.” Brienne hadn’t planned it to be like this, him naked and vulnerable, bearing his heart to her, with her still hiding behind layers of clothing. He tried to take the pressure off her by kissing her gently, but deeply, exploring her mouth with his tongue, all the while making gentle thrusts into her hand. Brienne didn’t want it this way. She had wanted him to feel like she was worshipping him, but instead it just felt like he gave and gave and gave, and she just took. Wanted to give something back for once, she removed her hand, which elicited a little grumble from him.

“Don’t grouse,” she said gently, “I’ve run us a bath.”

“A bath? What are you trying to do to me, you temptress?” he teased.

“I said I wanted to take care of you… in more ways than one.” She extended her hand to him. “Come. The bath is probably full now.”

Naked and exposed, he let her lead him into the ensuite. Brienne had turned on the taps when she had come in to get the lotion and, sure enough, it was now nearly full. “Get in,” she ordered him.

He looked at her warily. “Are you going to join me?”

There was still a small part of her that was frightened by the prospect, but she said, “yes. Of course.” Cupping her cheek with his hand, he leant in and kissed her, before obeying her order and getting in the bath. Once he was safely submerged in the water, she turned the taps off. “Is that the right temperature for you?” she asked.

“Perfect,” he said throatily. With that, she picked up a flannel and began to clean his face, washing away the little bits of dirt that had collected from their day of fighting. She was extra careful with his cuts and bruises as she began to wash his chest. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

“I told you,” she said gently. “I’m looking after you.”

He lifted his hand in order to touch her cheek, water dripping down his arm. “I think you are hiding.”

The truth of this words made her move back. Recoiling from his touch, she placed the flannel next to the taps, before she quickly got to her feet and headed back to her bedroom.

“Hey!” he said, suddenly concerned, “where are you going?”

She turned around to look at him, trying to keep her voice level. “I’m just going to take my clothes off. I’ll be back in a second.”

“Oh no you don’t,” he said warningly. “I want to see every moment of this. You are going to strip for me, just like I did for you.”

Those words set her heart hammering with nerves. “But…”

He gazed at her imploringly. “I want to see you, Brienne, and not just in my imagination.”

She sighed. There was no holding back anymore; this was the moment. Trying to stop her hands from shaking, she took off her leather jacket. _Maybe if I’m a disappointment,_ she thought, _we could do it in the dark from now on._ She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his expression as he recoiled from her. However, what he said next made her open them again.

“You are _so_ strong. I love that you look like you could crush me if I got out of hand, like some warrior woman out of my fantasies.” She felt awkward, and there was something in Jaime’s expression that suggested he could sense that and was trying to soothe her. “I remember when I saw you at Margaery’s party; you looked so stunning, so beautiful, so gorgeous. You look amazing in that dress; you should wear it more often.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I always thought you were joking about that. That’s partly why I stomped off at the end. I thought you complimenting me was a big elaborate joke.”

“A joke?” he said, incredulously. “How could I be joking about you in _that_ dress? That vision has been locked away in my personal wank bank for _ages_.”

“Jaime,” she tutted. He just laughed; in that moment he looked so happy, so relaxed, that it compelled her to speak. “What do you want me to take off next?”

“Your choice, my love,” he said, as his hand dropped below the water. She knew he was touching himself and the thought made her hot. Wanting to please him, she settled on her vest top. Jaime had already explored her breasts with his hand, so maybe her naked torso wouldn’t be too shocking for him. Pulling her top off over her head, she tried to return his gaze but found him totally transfixed on her naked form. When he said nothing, the nerves returned, and she tried to fill the silence.

“I’m sorry they are too small...”

That made him snap his head up and look at her. “Too small? You are mad, wench. Completely mad. They’re perfect.”

She laughed nervously. “You think?”

“Yes,” he beamed. “I only have one hand. I can’t cope with too much tit.”

“Jaime!” she said, somewhat shocked. “Can you please not use the word _tit_ in the singular when discussing my breasts?”

“Oh, I _am_ sorry,” he said, a laugh on his tongue. “The woman I love is currently taking all her clothes off in front of me. I’m sorry my words aren’t perfect. The blood isn’t rushing to my brain at this present time.”

Finding herself more relaxed, she went to take off her trousers, boots, and socks, and watched as his eyes roved all over her, taking in every inch. She hesitated when she got to her knickers, but, steeling herself, she pulled them down in one swift motion, and then had to resist covering herself with her hand as his eyes burned into her skin. He sighed adoringly; his eyes locked on the juncture between her thighs.

“You’ve got such a pretty cunt.”

“Jaime!” she said, in real outrage this time. “You can’t say that!”

“Yes, I can,” he smiled mischievously. “I just did. And anyway, it’s the truth, so I’ll say it again. You’ve got _such_ a pretty cunt.” She could feel herself going bright red and that seemed to compel him to say even more scandalous things. “I never thought I’d be a fan of the 70s look, if I’m being honest, but it just reminds me you are all woman. I love how hairy you are. I love how it feels when I bury my face…”

“Alright,” she said, laughing, cutting him off. “That’s enough of that.”

“Don’t you like it when I talk to you?” he said, a little hurt. “I just want you to know how much I’m enjoying myself, how good you look, how good you make me feel. It’s so much better than silence.” He paused, before looking deeply into her eyes. “I would like it if you talked to me like that.”

She blushed. In truth, she did like it. It made her feel wanted, if a little awkward. “I’m not used to it, that’s all. Hyle never…”

“I don’t want to hear about you and Hyle,” said Jaime forcefully, “I cannot stand the thought of you with other men, especially men who treated you badly. You are mine.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, “oh, am I?”

“Yes. And I am yours.” He extended his hand to her. “Come here, wench. We shouldn’t be so far apart.”

Walking towards him, Brienne let him pull her close. He wrapped his arms around her and started to kiss her belly, drawing little red marks on her skin where he sucked and nipped at her a little too hard. He looked up at her, his green eyes shining. “Use me for your pleasure,” he breathed. “I want nothing more than to make you happy.”

She knelt down beside the bath so they were eye to eye, their lips inches from a kiss. “And I am yours, Jaime.” She thought honesty was the best policy, so she murmured, “I have very little experience… but… I will try to please you.”

Jaime traced his thumb across her cheek. “You are already pleasing me,” he said gently. “But I wish you would let me help you. Tonight, let me be at your command. It might make things easier for you, make you more relaxed.”

She liked the thought of that, and a breathy “yes” had escaped her before she had time to logically think it through. He pulled her into another kiss, that started off at lusty before becoming thoroughly indecent in a moment. Brienne eventually managed to tear herself away, but that only compelled Jaime to speak.

“Please, Brienne,” he whispered, “I can’t wait any longer. Let go of everything. _Let go_ …” There was a heartfelt longing in that, one that made her soften, that allowed the walls to sink down lower than she had ever done before. She ran her hands slowly across his face, feeling the perfect lines of his features and the five o’clock shadow.

_Let go…_

With that, she knew she couldn’t wait much longer either. When Brienne got into the bath, she immediately straddled him, but hovered over him at a distance, surveying the territory. He looked at her with a slightly possessed expression that matched how hard he was when he pressed into her thigh.

“I wasn’t lying,” he smiled. “I’m pretty sure there’s no blood in my brain right now at all.”

“There never is,” she joked, before leaning over him and pulling him in for a deep kiss. As she did so, he lifted his hand to cup her breast, teasing her nipple with his fingers, just as he had done at the Model Village. Preoccupied with her chest, he didn’t immediately notice her slowly lowering her right hand to wrap her fingers firmly around his shaft. When he did, a groan escaped him that was halfway between pain and pleasure. As she started stroking him, moving her hand up and down in an attempt to permanently commit the feel of his engorged cock to her mind, he pulled back from her kiss to gasp. That only spurred her on, and she kept going until his breath was ragged and the gasps had turned into moans.

“Stop…” he eventually begged. “I won’t last… I won’t…” That only made her move her fingers faster, catching the head of his cock between her fingers, running her thumb over the slit at the tip. Jaime seemed to be enjoying this, even in spite of his half-hearted protestations. He threw his head backwards against the taps, overcome.

“What do you want, Jaime?” she said, determined to discover how to give him more pleasure. “I won’t let you come until you tell me what you want.” He closed his eyes, almost as if trying to regain some control.

“I don’t know…” he moaned, “what do you want me to say?”

“I want you to talk to me,” she said honestly. “I thought you liked that. I want you to spell it out.” Her voice was soft and her lips gentle on his ear even as she kept stroking him with her strong hand. “Tell me what you want me to do to you. I want to please you… and… and…”

_Pleasing you will please me._

At that, he opened his eyes once more and she could see his naked animalistic hunger for her in the green. “Ride me,” he begged again, his voice cracking. Every little desire suddenly spilled out of him. “I want you to get on top of me and let me satisfy you. I want to be inside you… I want to come inside you. I want you all over me, so close that I can’t tell where I stop and you begin.”

Despite all Jaime’s protestations to the contrary, he could sometimes be very good with his words. It also awoke in her something she hadn’t previously been aware of. With Connington and Hyle she had let them take the lead and had consequently felt bored and disinterested, acutely aware that they did not care about her pleasure. In contrast, Jaime wanted her to take charge of her own desires, and to take charge of him. She blushed when she realised that she very much liked the idea of that. Finally releasing him from his exquisite agony, she stopped stroking him and positioned his cock at her entrance. He looked up at her in anticipation, adoration in his eyes, his hand at her waist.

“Brienne…” he murmured. Even though he was at the height of his arousal, there was something tender and delicate in his voice. It melted her sudden desire to dominate him. This wasn’t a fight; it was a shared pleasure. She gave him a small smile and placed a light kiss on his forehead, before finally lowering herself down onto him. Taking him inside her slowly, inch by agonising inch, she couldn’t believe how easily her body expanded and stretched to accommodate him. The way they interlocked was the most natural and perfect thing in the world. Only when he entered her could she acknowledge her overwhelming desire to be filled up by him, taken until there was no more room. Feeling the throbbing ache for him between her thighs finally being satiated, she looked at him, wondering if it felt as good for him as it did for her.

“Oh god,” he moaned, resting his forehead against hers, “that’s so good… you feel so good… so tight around me… I love you.”

She kissed him gently. “I love you too.”

In spite of the fact she had taken him firmly in hand, their second time had none of the furious, flirty passion of their first. It was slow and tender, the most their sore bodies could take. As she rode him in the warm water, giving him what he wanted, he kissed her breasts, her shoulders, and her mouth. It seemed that every moment his lips weren’t on her skin he was mumbling, “I love you”. She found herself cupping his face in her hands, wanting to look into his eyes as she made love to him, as she brought him to his climax. It came fairly quickly; they were tired, and they had waited so long. Before Jaime spilt himself inside her, claiming her, flooding her with an overwhelming warmth that was entirely him, he brought his hand down between them and drew little circles on the apex of her pleasure with his thumb.

“With me,” he said against her lips. “Come with me.”

She didn’t quite make it, but he kept stroking her and kissing her until she followed him a few moments later, and all she could do was moan into his mouth as her orgasm overcame her. Collapsing onto him, she rested her head on his shoulder, feeling comforted when he pulled her into a tight embrace, stroking her hair. They stayed that way as his cock softened inside her.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“What for?” she asked, a little confused.

“I didn’t last long.”

She kissed his shoulder. “That’s fine. It’s nice to know you desire me.”

Jaime turned his head, so they were facing each other, their noses touching. “I desire you all the time,” he whispered huskily. “I _want_ you all the time. If I could have my way, I’d have you every moment of every day; we’d never leave our bed.”

Brienne pulled him into a deep kiss to tell him the same. She wasn’t so good with words.

* * *

 

Once the bath water had got cold, they got out of the tub and dried each other off. Brienne then took Jaime’s hand and led him to her bed. It was much smaller than Jaime’s massive king-size, so she told him to lay on his side. He did as she asked, before extending his arm to her.

“Come wench,” he said gently, “let’s spoon.”

She wanted that more than anything, but she ignored his invitation and went around the other side of the bed to do something she secretly suspected he might like. Laying out on her side behind him, she pushed her body against his back, drawing her top leg up in order to hitch it over his thigh, and then wrapped her arms around him. She felt him relax into her, and he let out a little groan when she pressed a kiss onto the nape of his neck.

“You can’t be real,” he moaned, snuggling into her. “You are all my fantasies come to life at once.” That made her blush. “I can’t even see your face and I know you are blushing.”

“I’m not,” she lied.

“You _so_ are, but I don’t care. I like you blushing. I like this.” He pressed her hand firmly into his chest. She could feel his heart beating.

They went quiet for a minute, just enjoying the warmth, nearness, and nakedness.

“I’ve never done this before,” said Brienne eventually, nuzzling into him.

“Me neither,” he said truthfully. “Taena would never let me be little spoon. Apparently, it’s really unmanly.”

“Well, she knows nothing,” said Brienne passionately. “I’ve seen you shooting a gun whilst leaning out of a car window in a high speed pursuit. You are totally my manly man, even if you like snuggling like this.”

“I love this,” he sighed, “and I love you, wench.”

“Love you, manly man.”

There was a pause, and then he said, “we are so disgustingly gross sometimes I can barely believe what’s coming out of my own mouth.”

She laughed and began to kiss his ear, which just made him sigh again.

They snuggled for a while, then they both had a little nap, and when they woke up, he turned his head so they could kiss again. Luxuriating in the laziness of it all, Brienne said, “what do you want to do for the rest of the evening?” She couldn’t help but run her fingers through his chest hair. There was desire in his voice, and he scooped one of her hands up to kiss her palm.

“I vote we get a takeaway pizza and then Netflix and chill.”

She felt disappointed by that. Brienne liked the pizza idea but… hadn’t he enjoyed their time together in the bath? Didn’t he want to go for a round two? Or three?

“Oh,” she said, her feelings coming across in her voice.

Sensing the sadness in her tone, he rolled over to face her. “What’s the matter? Do you not like pizza? We can get something else instead.”

“No, it’s not that,” she said. “I just didn’t think this was the moment when you decided you finally wanted to watch the German time travel show with me.”

He laughed. “Wench, do you even know what Netflix and chill means?”

When she looked at him confusedly, he asked more forcefully. “Well, do you?”

“Yeah, of course,” she said slowly. “It means you watch something on Netflix and then you relax.”

He was grinning at her and she couldn’t understand why. “I promise you it really doesn’t.” Her leg was still hooked over his hip, but in her irritation, she went to move it. He put his stump on her thigh to make her stay there.

“What does it mean then?” she asked, “oh genius one.”

His smile only grew bigger as he whispered, “it’s a euphemism for sex.”

That hit her like a ton of bricks. “But… but… but…” she stammered, “when you asked me round to yours that first time, you said you wanted to Netflix and chill!”

He was grinning at her in a way that made her go bright red. “I thought I was being perfectly clear about my intentions. But then you arrived at my flat and mistook my strategically placed scented candles for faulty wiring, didn’t seem to hear the playlist I’d spent several hours compiling was full of the most gushy, over the top romantic songs ever written by humankind, or the fact that I hand fed you a strawberry and licked all the juice off my fingers afterwards. Oh, and you totally ignored the fact I’d dressed up to the nines.”

“That’s not entirely true,” she said, pouting. “I noticed the sexy shirt… I just thought you’d put it on by accident.”

“You are so oblivious,” he said, before leaning close for a kiss.

She pulled away, laughing, “maybe you should have been more direct.”

“Ok. From now on I will be.” He cleared his throat. “Dear Brienne Tarth, fellow occupant of this bed.” That had her giggling. “I am going to proposition you now, and I hope you will accept. I propose we order a takeaway pizza – Dominoes not Pizza Hut – and then spend the rest of this evening fucking each other’s brains out. Yours sincerely, Jaime Lannister. What do you think? Direct enough?”

“Jaime!” she said in faux outrage, playfully whacking his arm.

“Well, shall we?”

Brienne pretended to think about it. “It’s not a _bad_ plan.”

He smirked. “I think it’s a great plan.”

“Do you?”

“It’s an amazing plan. Best plan I’ve ever heard of.”

Brienne sighed, as if this was all a terrible chore. “Well… you may have to persuade me.”

His stump suddenly connected with her shoulder and he pushed her onto her back, climbing on top of her. “Oh, I can be very, _very_ persuasive when I want to be.”

“Can you?” she said, challenging him. “You’ll have to show me.”

Grinning that insufferable smile at her, he leant down and kissed her gently on the lips, before slowly beginning to move down her body – her chin, her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. He lingered on her breasts, taking his time to caress them, swirling his tongue around her nipples until they pebbled against him. With every kiss, her body was aflame. He then continued his journey southwards, pressing his lips carefully onto the red marks he had left earlier on her belly before disappearing beneath the covers.

Once there, he kissed her right at the very centre of her longing for him, and she found herself moaning his name. He was, after all, very talented with his tongue. As he began to delve deeper into her, she relaxed, opening her legs wider for him. God, she wanted him so much. Her surrender just encouraged him more, and soon she felt him replace his tongue with his finger, and then two, in order to push deeper inside her, crooking them as he went. Before long he was fucking her with his fingers and his tongue, and she lost all track of what day of the week it was.

“Oh god… Jaime… Jaime…”

The tremor in her voice as she said his name made him laugh, and its vibration against her made her spasm. With that, Jaime moved his fingers more quickly, and began to swirl his tongue around her nub, only stopping to suck and kiss the little pleasure point until she was writhing in ecstasy. Lying his right arm across her hips, he locked her into place, forcing her to accept the unbearable pleasure he kept giving her, his fingers moving faster and faster with every moan that escaped her. She grasped at him, her hands in his hair.

“Jaime… I’ve wanted you for so long…” Her words then dissolved into an incoherent cry as she came, but still he wouldn’t let her go, only slowing his fingers as she began to journey down from her peak, letting her ride out her orgasm on him. She lost where she was for a moment, only conscious of Jaime; that Jaime was in her bed, that Jaime was in between her thighs, that Jaime loved her, and that he would not stop.

“God, you taste so good,” he growled. She thought he meant to lick every drop of her pleasure from her, maybe until she came again. He kissed her inner thighs, then moved up to the top her legs, which were still quivering. Wanting to soothe her, he drew circles on the sensitive skin behind her knee as his lips moved higher to her damp mound, where he placed another, almost reverent, kiss. Still coming down from her high, the scorching trail of kisses he drew up to her belly did nothing to quiet her. Once there, the duvet slipped aside and revealed his flushed face to her, and she almost laughed at the amorous look in his green eyes. Resting his chin on her belly, he looked up at her. 

"Persuaded?” he asked, a wicked grin on his face. Liking the power he wielded, he lifted his fingers that were still slick with her essence and put them in his mouth, sucking them clean. All the while, he kept his eyes trained on her.

Although she was still trembling, she managed to stutter, “p…p … persuaded.”

He crawled back up the bed in order to kiss her, so she could taste herself on his tongue. It felt unbearably intimate. When they broke apart, he smiled that cut-glass grin at her; the same one that had vexed her when she first met him, but she now loved more than anything.

“Netflix and chill it is then,” he said, his eyes alight with his familiar self-satisfied smirk.

“Netflix and chill,” she agreed, before surrendering to another onslaught of his kisses.

* * *

 

When Brienne’s phone rang some time later, she found it difficult to reach, because she was still entangled with a dozing Jaime.

“Leave it, wench,” he complained, nuzzling into her neck.

She thought about listening to him; after all, she was exhausted by both a massive gun battle and then hours and hours of making love to Jaime. In the end, however, she decided to ignore him and reached across the bed to pick her phone up from her bedside cabinet. It was Margaery.

“Hey… just wondering. Are you coming into work today? It’s nearly midday.”

_Fuck._

When Brienne pushed Jaime off her, he gave an unhappy little groan, and tried to grab her. “Where are you going, wench? Come back here. I was nice and warm.”

“Jaime, it’s midday. We’ve overslept.”

“So?” he groaned. “You’re the Chief Inspector now, just say we’re on patrol or something.”

“What? In my bed? We’re on patrol in my bed?” she said disbelievingly.

He laughed. “Yes. Or, if you really want to make it look authentic, we could go to mine and do a patrol of my bed too. Cover all bases.” His grin grew larger as a plan bloomed in his brain. “Actually, I think we really need to do a patrol at my place, as I hear there’s a really naughty boy who lives there who needs to be handcuffed and punished by the new Chief Inspector.”

“Oh, is there?” teased Brienne, feeling herself being dragged into his game. “Well, what’s stopping me punishing you right here and now? You are in my jurisdiction, Lannister, I can do anything I want to you.”

Jaime finally succeeded in pulling her close. “You are so right, Chief,” he purred, kissing all the way up her arm. “I’m such a bad boy, and I’ve got so many crimes I need to confess to; I need to be punished for them all…”

“You know I can still hear you,” said Margaery into Brienne’s ear.

Brienne let out a little scream as she remembered. “You didn’t hear _any_ of that,” commanded Brienne.

“I _so_ did!” said Margaery, laughing, “and I’m scarred for life. Although, I can now tell the team we were right. We all guessed you wore the trousers on the streets _and_ in the sheets.”

Brienne had gone bright red; she couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or the fact that Jaime was now kissing a very sensitive part of her neck. “We’ll be fifteen minutes,” she said, trying to regain control of the situation. “Just hold down the fort until I get there, yes?”

“Alright boss. See you then.”

When Brienne hung up the phone, Jaime turned her face towards his to kiss her fully. She acquiesced for a few moments – she found it bloody difficult to refuse Jaime Lannister anything after he had been so unrelenting in his desire to please her last night – before pushing him away. “I’m serious, Jaime. We’ve got to go to work. It’s Friday.”

“I find the days of the week to be abstract concepts,” he said wearily, throwing himself back down onto the bed. “The only thing that is real in this moment is the fact that we are both naked in this bed, and we are currently not making the most of that opportunity.”

“Not anymore,” she smirked, leaping out of bed. He looked at her grumpily at that, even more so when she began going around the room picking up his discarded uniform and throwing it at him in an effort to get him to move.

“Maybe we could do it in the car,” he mused, finally looking as if he was thinking about getting up.

“It’s illegal,” said Brienne. “Indecent exposure.”

“Alright,” he said, reworking his idea. “What about if you just sit in your office all day doing work…?”

“Finally, a plan I can get behind,” she said, digging out his prosthetic from under the corner of the bed before going to hand it to him.

He smiled like the lion he was. “And I’ll just kneel under your desk with my head between your thighs like the good boyfriend I am.”

“You are bloody cheeky,” she said, chucking his prosthetic at him. “And I told you, get up Sergeant Lannister! Casterly needs you!”

That, finally, made him look up, a quizzical expression on his face. “ _Sergeant_ Lannister?”

“Yes!” she said, looking round for her deodorant. “Sergeant Lannister. Didn’t I tell you? I’m promoting you.”

“You might have done, but I couldn’t hear much last night over your moaning. I may have missed that crucial announcement.” A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he fixed her with a teasing look, “is that why I got my promotion? Because I was _that good_.”

“Oh, shut up,” she hissed. “You are so arrogant sometimes.”

“Are you going to deny it now? Because last night you were all _yes Jaime… oooh that’s so good Jaime… right there Jaime… ahhhh fuck me Jaime_ ,” he said, putting on a stupid falsetto complete with sex noises.

She tried to put her serious face on in an effort to get him to move. “Come on. We need to go to work. And Casterly needs its new Sergeant because he is great at his job.” Leaving him in the bed, she made her way to the bathroom. Once there, she put her clothes on a neat pile on top of the toilet and got into the shower. She was still all sticky and didn’t really want to rock up at work on her first day as Chief Inspector smelling of sex and Jaime.

After spending a few moments getting acclimatised to the water, she took the body wash off the shelf and poured some onto her shoulder, ready to work it into lather. Wanting to shower in peace, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a hand on her back. “Jaime!” she said admonishingly.

“What? I need a shower too,” he said, rubbing the body wash into her skin. “I can help you.”

“You’ll just make me even later than I already am!”

He chuckled. “And what is so wrong with that? We had a tough day yesterday. The Chief Inspector in Lannisport said he’d cover us, so let’s embrace that. You saved Casterly. You deserve to relax for one day.”

Even as he made little circles with his thumb at the top of her spine, relaxing her and setting her skin aflame, she grumbled, “I really hate you sometimes.”

His voice was unbearably gentle. “Turn around, look me in the eye and say that.”

Slowly, she turned around to look into his green eyes, determined to shut him down, but the gaze he was giving her was so heartfelt she completely melted. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he smiled. “Now come on, let me wash your back.”

She complied.

* * *

 

When Margaery checked her phone half an hour later, she had a message from Brienne.

 _Brienne:_         Hey. Jaime and I are going on patrol. Tell everyone that Casterly Constabulary will be up and running full time on Monday. The team can have the rest of the day off. If there are any problems, Lannisport will deal with them x

Margaery laughed and turned around to the team, all of whom were sitting in the staff room eating cake. “Our new Chief Inspector just messaged me. Apparently, her and Constable Lannister are going out on patrol, so we can all have the rest of the day off.”

Jon looked confused. “This is like Dumbledore letting everyone off their exams for no good reason at the end of every school year in _Harry Potter_. What’s going on?”

Robb Stark smirked. “I think Constable Lannister’s magic cock is what is going on, Jon. We really should get him to shag her more often if it means days off.”

“Why do you always have to lower the tone?” said Margaery, rolling her eyes. “You are quite wrong. I think true love is what is going on.”

“Oh really?” laughed Robb. “So, you think that Tarth and Lannister are currently sitting at home making heart eyes at each other?”

“No,” grumbled the Hound. “They only ever do that here to piss us all off.”

“You lot are such bitter old cynics,” snapped Margaery. With that, she sat down at her desk and sent a response to Brienne.

 _Margaery:_         Yay! Thanks for letting us know. And just FYI, you are coming round to mine tomorrow with Sansa and Shae and we expect you to tell us EVERYTHING. Peace out, and have a have a great time on “patrol” with your Constable x

Thirty seconds later, she got a message from Jaime.

 _Jaime:_               Sergeant. I’m that good. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GET A PROMOTION! AND YOU GET A PROMOTION!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed that! They are finally a couple - yay!
> 
> Once again, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.
> 
> Next chapter... Something a little different (for the second time).


	30. The Things We Do For Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne are finally a couple...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter got out of all control! It was originally going to be short and sweet, but then grew... and grew... and grew... so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos leave me flabbergasted and amazed!

Jaime was happy that the rules of their relationship got established pretty quickly; one night at Brienne’s, one night at his. Within two days Brienne had got herself a toothbrush that appeared in the cup next to his, and it didn’t take long before she had clothes in his wardrobe, shoes by his door, and her own mug next to the kettle. He wouldn’t have changed it for the world. At the end of week one she called him into her office after he got back off patrol with the Hound.

“I’ve got you something,” she said as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

“A kiss, I hope,” he replied, before she spent a good minute snogging his face off.

When they finished, she said, “not just that,” as she smiled, pulling her gift out of her pocket. She’d even wrapped it in a little bow.

Perplexed, he said. “What is it?”

Brienne went bright red. “It’s a key to my flat. I just thought that if…” She didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence, because he was kissing her again.

Because he was a disorganised mess, it took him another week to get her a key for his flat, so they spent a few days at hers. In that time, he learnt he loved the easy domesticity they had cultivated together, even if he thought her cat was an emissary from Satan. Shadow had a way of slinking into the room just as things were getting serious with Brienne. She particularly enjoyed just standing there and staring at him every time Jaime tried to go down on his lady. It got even worse when he became convinced there was a plot to kill him when Shadow wrapped herself round his legs and nearly made him trip up and break his neck one time Jaime had tried to kiss Brienne in the kitchen.

 _Jaime:_ I’m convinced Brienne’s cat is trying to kill me.

 _Margaery:_ Don’t worry. I hate that cat too. Maybe we can plot together how to get rid of her.

But, in the end, Jaime would pretend to be happy when Brienne cooed over Shadow, and stroked the bloody animal as Brienne said, “isn’t she the cutest?” Once, he even bought Shadow a couple of toys when he saw them in a shop.

_What has this woman done to me?_

It made Brienne happy, which was all he wanted.

During the period of time they had circled each other, Brienne pretending she did not feel anything for him, Jaime had come to the conclusion that if he ever did succeed in getting her to be his girlfriend, it was his duty to be the more emotionally open of the two. Brienne had a way of raising her walls and shutting the world out when she got frightened, so Jaime had to go gently, learn how to move around her, learn when to hold her and when to leave her alone. The first time they had had sex as a couple, wet and warm in the bath, Brienne had been nervous, and it had taken all his sweet words and jokes to cajole her into laying herself bare as he did for her. At the height of their passion, as he had looked into her eyes and told her he loved her, he had seen all her residual fear wash away. In that moment, he realised that by allowing him into this intimacy, she had made him the keeper of her emotions.

What he hadn’t anticipated, however, was that she was also the keeper of his.

Her moment came when he and Tyrion had to go to Lannisport to talk to the social. With his father and Cersei’s arrest, Tommen and Myrcella were once again homeless, and they had been temporarily living with Tyrion and Shae up at Casterly Rock, as Tyrion had decided it was best to limit the disruption to their lives. The social were trying to work out whether this arrangement would be suitable permanently.

“I could come with you if you want,” Brienne had suggested the night before the meeting, when they were wrapped up together in his bed, naked. “Tyrion is bringing Shae, and it might be good for you to have some support as well.”

Jaime stroked a strand of hair out of her eyes. “It will probably be really boring, my love.”

Brienne fixed him with a serious look. “But it might also be quite tough. They will be dragging through your history with Tywin and Cersei…”

“Only if you want to,” he said, lifting one of her hands to his lips for a light kiss.

“Of course I want to,” she smiled gently. “If you need someone to hold your hand, I’ll be there.”

Consequently, the next day, Brienne was holding his hand under the table when the meeting with Mr Luwin, the most imperious little man in the history of the world, got a little heated.

“Mr Luwin,” said Tyrion, “I assure you Tommen and Myrcella are happy with the arrangement. Jaime and I have discussed it at length too. I moved to Casterly Rock, I work regular hours, I live with my long term partner. Jaime works a more dangerous job than me, lives in a flat, and has only been with his girlfriend for a short time.” Jaime did not like his relationship with Brienne being thought less than Tyrion and Shae’s, but he kept his mouth shut. Feeling his tension, Brienne just squeezed his fingers.

Mr Luwin looked at them both over his glasses. “That is all very commendable, but the truth of the matter is that your father and sister were both arrested for a string of murders and you are their closest relatives. The social service is going to have to conduct a thorough investigation into whether it is appropriate for Tommen and Myrcella to stay within the family.”

Jaime had gone to speak, but Brienne had beaten him to it. “What are you trying to say?” she said, her voice rising with every word. “That Jaime and Tyrion are like Tywin and Cersei? Because I assure you, they are not. I was the police officer who discovered what Tywin and Cersei were doing, and both Jaime and Tyrion helped me at _considerable_ risk to themselves. Tyrion and Shae alerted the police in Lannisport and Jaime…” She turned to look at him. “Jaime was beside me every step of the way. He actively fought to make sure justice was done, even though it was his own father and sister he had to arrest. It was very hard for him, but he did his job. How can you question that he is a good man? How he is the best of men? I just don’t understand.”

Shae then said something about it not being right about Tommen and Myrcella being taken away from their family, but Jaime didn’t hear. He was too busy looking at Brienne, _his_ Brienne, her cheeks red in anger and in her never ending faith in him.

“My word is final,” said Mr Luwin. “Although I will permit Tommen and Myrcella to stay with you _for now,_ we will be undertaking a serious investigation!”

When they got back to hers, Brienne could tell Jaime was upset, so she took him to her bed and they spooned, her pressed into his back in the way they liked.

“I’m sorry,” she said gently, drawing patterns on his chest with her fingers. “I feel this is my fault. If I hadn’t have got angry…”

“It’s not,” he replied. “It’s not your fault that my father and sister are what they are.”

“And it’s not yours either,” insisted Brienne. “You are kind, and generous, and sweet, and loving. You are nothing like them. You are my Jaime.”

That shut away some of his sadness, and he had to admit he felt better as she spent time just holding him. Eventually, she whispered, “what would make you feel better, my love? Shall we stay like this? Or we could have sex. You look so precious right now; I want to make love to you.”

He let out a little laugh at that, before rolling over to look at her. “I would like that very much.”

A few minutes later a naked Brienne was on top of him, holding him down, fucking him. It felt so good to just submit to her, yet at the same time he knew she was doing this _for_ him, to make him feel good, to make him sink into oblivion and forget about the world. It worked.

Jaime had the chance to reciprocate when she came back from her first session with her new therapist, Doctor Aemon. When she turned up at Jaime’s front door immediately afterwards, he could tell that it had upset her having to trawl through her past in excruciating detail, trying to find clues as to why she thought the way she did.

“Awww,” he said putting an arm around her. “Come in. I’ll make you a cup of tea and you can tell me all about it… or not, whatever you prefer.” In the end, they snuggled up on the sofa and she told him some of it, before they had the type of sex that was all about her.

* * *

 

“Are you sure you don’t want a party?” Jaime asked. “We could have a house party at mine, if you don’t want to get your place all messy.”

Brienne shook her head. “It’s not that. I just don’t really like being the centre of attention.”

He chuckled, “that’s somewhat ironic coming from the woman who once rode into town on a white horse looking like a badass and then proceeded to shoot the whole place up.”

Brienne gave him a playful shove, before he pecked her on the cheek.

“But in all seriousness,” he said, “you are turning twenty eight. We should celebrate.”

She shrugged. “It’s not exactly a big birthday.”

“I know,” he said gently, shimmying closer to her, “but it’s the first birthday of yours you’ve spent with me, so I feel it should be special.”

A little blush came to her cheeks, “you are so sentimental.”

“I _know_ ,” he laughed, “but will you think about it?”

“Sure.”

A couple of days later she came back to him and said that although she didn’t want a party, she would like to go out for dinner with their friends and colleagues somewhere nice in Lannisport, before maybe going to a few bars. She ended up picking a Thai restaurant and inviting everybody; Margaery, Sansa, Shae, Tyrion, Bronn, Jon, Robb, Robb, the Hound, and Ilyn.

As her birthday was on a Friday, it meant they had to go to work, so Jaime woke her fairly early with breakfast in bed. “Happy birthday, my love,” he said, reaching across to give her a kiss as he put the tray down on the bedside cabinet.

She blushed, “thank you. You didn’t have to…”

“Of course I did,” he smiled. “It’s your birthday. Given that we don’t have much time, I thought that two out of three of sex or presents or breakfast was possible before work, and I reckoned you’d probably most like breakfast, so I made you a Full English.”

She sat up and put the tray on her lap, before beginning to eat. “What makes you say that?”

“What?”

“That we’d only have time for two out of three? I’m the Chief Inspector, if I say we have time for all three, we have time for all three.”

“Ok,” he said, stealing a bit of toast from her plate. “So breakfast first, then…”

“Sex then presents,” she pouted.

He smiled. “I’d recommend presents then sex, because I got you a vibrator and I thought we could try it out.”

“Jaime!” she laughed. “Why are you… wait a second, you’ve got me more than one present?”

“Of course,” he said, shuffling up next to her. “Romantic Jaime got you a present, and Fun Jaime got you a present and Dirty Jaime got you a present…”

In the end, she only ate half her breakfast, then they tried out the vibrator and Brienne came twice. After she had showered, she opened her other presents and cried when he showed her the necklace he’d bought her. It was in the shape of a moon and had a little sapphire in it.

“Don’t you like it?” he said nervously. “I… just… well… the sapphire reminded me of your eyes.”

“I love it,” she replied, as she put it on.

“Well, why are you crying?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You are just so lovely to me I can’t quite get over it. I don’t deserve you.”

They were late for work.

That evening, Jaime went to Brienne’s to get ready for her birthday celebrations. She instantly went to her bedroom and started moaning about the fact she had nothing to wear.

“This is shit,” she said, throwing a dress on the bed. “And this is shit as well…” When Jaime came in wearing the suit he had picked out, Brienne just got angry at him. “Why do you always look so effortlessly gorgeous while I look like some lost mountain troll?”

Jaime came over to her. “I didn’t know mountain trolls existed, my love, but if they do, they must be the most beautiful creatures on the planet.”

She raised the corner of her mouth in something that approached a smile. “Don’t you try and sweet talk me, Mr Lannister.”

“I’m not,” he said, slinking a hand around her waist. “I’m being honest.”

Brienne went the colour of a tomato. “Okay, what do you suggest then? The options are on the bed.” He went over to have a look. There were some old favourites amongst them, including the blue masturbatory fantasy dress and the goddess dress.

“My vote is always with the blue one,” he said, picking it up. “But I should warn you, that if you _do_ decide to wear it, you can’t blame me if I happen to bend you over the table at the restaurant and fuck you in front of all our friends.” That made her laugh but, in the end, she deferred to his preference and put the dress and the necklace he had bought her on.

It wasn’t long before their friends started to gather at Brienne’s flat; they were sharing taxis after all. During the wait, Arya and Gendry even popped round to say hi to drop off presents and wish Brienne a happy birthday. Jaime could tell that the fact so many people were here for her was making her slightly overwhelmed.

“Are you okay?” he asked, just as the taxis pulled up.

“Yes,” she said gently, her eyes glistening. “Just really happy. For my birthday last year, I sat at home on my own with a Chinese and cried my eyes out watching _Romantics Anonymous._ ”

The image of a lonely Brienne made him very sad, so he held her hand all the way to Lannisport and, when they got to the restaurant, Jaime demanded that she sit at the centre of the long table, so everyone could see her and talk to her. She deserved to be the centre of attention on her birthday. Margaery went to sit next to her.

“Sorry, Margaery,” said Brienne. “Do you mind sitting on my left?”

“Sure,” replied Margaery, getting out the seat, “but why?”

Brienne blushed. “If Jaime’s on my right, we can hold hands.”

“Awww,” said Margaery, as she complied.

Brienne smiled at him, and he felt his stomach do a little flip. It still amazed him that she could do this to him. Once they sat down, Brienne immediately reached out and held his hand under the table. He only watched as she talked to their friends about lots of inane rubbish:

“Oooh, Robb, enjoy Dubrovnik I hear it’s really pretty… I think they filmed some big fantasy show there and you can do the tour…”

“YES. We need to have a _Harry Potter_ movie marathon one weekend…”

“You think there’s a karaoke bar near here? Oh god! I’m a terrible singer!”

As she spoke, it seemed to Jaime that in her happiness she glowed with the light of a thousand suns. He only interrupted her shining when the waiter brought the menus over. “Oh my god Brienne!” he said excitedly, pulling at her arm, so loudly that all the table turned to look at him.

“What?” she laughed.

“You are not allowed to have a gin and tonic until you’ve seen the cocktail menu,” he said passing it across to her.

“I’m not letting you talk me into having some awful looking drink with a stupid umbrella,” she insisted. “I’ll end up vomiting. Or propositioning a gay guy.”

He rolled his eyes and shoved the menu in front of her. “Look at the menu!”

When she saw what he was pointing at, she laughed. “And I am definitely not letting you talk me into cranberry mojitos again.”

“Why not?” he smiled, putting his arm round her shoulder. “They’re _our_ drink. Didn’t we have fun the last time we had cranberry mojitos?”

“If I recall correctly, a house blew up.”

“Yes,” conceded Jaime, before he smiled mischievously and held her tighter, “but you also sat on my…”

“Ok, too many details,” said Shae, snatching the menu off Brienne. “If cranberry mojitos are going to make you two randy, you are both banned. You are not allowed to have sex in a Thai restaurant.”

Even so, when the waiter came over, both Jaime and Brienne ordered a cranberry mojito. After the starter came, Brienne ordered a second while Jaime stuck to water. Then with dinner she had a gin and tonic, before another cocktail while they were waiting for the dessert menu. After she had a sticky toffee pudding, she shared a pitcher of _Sex on the Beach_ with Margaery, so by the time the bill came she was a little bit merry.

“Have I ever told you, you are really pretty,” she said to Jaime, wrapping her arms round his waist.

“I don’t think you’ve ever used the word _pretty_ before, no.”

“Well you are,” she smiled, “really, really pretty. You’ve got a pretty smile, and pretty hair, and really pretty green eyes. Even back when I hated your guts, I thought you were really pretty.”

Even though it hurt to think that Brienne had once hated him, he tried to take it as a compliment, because he knew she meant it as one. “Thanks wench,” he smiled. “You are really pretty too.”

After they had paid the bill, Ilyn said his goodbyes, but the rest of them decided on a bar crawl. They spent nearly an hour in the first bar, and Brienne let Tyrion talk her into some tequila shots.

“Come on Jaime!” she smiled. “Have some!”

“I’m alright thanks,” he said, ordering his orange juice, amazed that they’d finally reached a point in their relationship where Brienne was trying to persuade _him_ to drink. But, as it was Brienne’s birthday, all their friends were intent on getting drunk and rowdy, so he felt someone had to be designated driver. For the most part, Jaime managed to keep them on the straight and narrow, even when Margaery came perilously close to making out with Robb Stark at the second bar. Brienne was cheering and was all for it, but Jaime stepped in.

“I can’t help but think you’ll regret this in the morning,” he said gently.

“Oh, shut up Lannister,” said Robb Stark. “Stop being such a cock block. I wouldn’t do it to you.”

“Really?” said Jaime, amused. “Because I seem to recall one time at the Model Village when…”

Around midnight, they got thrown out the third bar they went to because the Hound started a fight with a guy who tried to grab Sansa’s arse without her permission, so Jaime had to lead them all to one of the last bars in Lannisport that would have them. It was a dingy little place called _The Red Keep_ and they seemed to be in the middle of a karaoke night.

“I was born to sing!” declared a very drunk Margaery, “and I need to show the world my talent.”

Margaery’s rendition of _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun_ proved conclusively that she was not, in fact, born to sing. The point was hammered even further home when Sansa followed it with Whitney Houston’s _Run to You,_ and the Hound looked like he was going to cry at the sheer beauty of her voice. Shae and Tyrion then did a duet of _Something Stupid,_ before Jon sung _Wild Thing_ _._

“Come on Jaime,” needled Sansa, “you need to get up and sing.”

“No I do not,” he said quite forcefully. “I’m terrible.”

She nudged him. “It’s Brienne’s birthday, you need to go serenade your lady.”

“Brienne doesn’t want me singing at her, trust me.”

What he hadn’t anticipated, however, was that Brienne thought he would want her singing at _him._ Towards the end of the night, she climbed up on the stage, taking the microphone in hand, chatting to the sound guy in order to pick her song. Once she had decided, he went to press play. “Don’t play the music yet,” begged Brienne, slurring her words. He ignored her and went to turn the song on, to which she shouted, “I could arrest you! I’m a policewoman officer, ya know! I wanna say something!”

He put his hands up in mock surrender as Brienne turned back to the crowd.

“Before I start singing, I just want to dedicate this song… hic… to a very, very, very, very… really… very… very special person in my life.”

 _Oh no, wench,_ he thought, _don’t do it…_

Jaime tried not to look at their friends sat around the table, who were all shooting each other amused glances and eliciting chuckles.

“He’s really amazingly talented at everything he does. He’s a total badass policeman officer man… and he’s really, really funny… like piss your pants funny… and he brought me breakfast in bed this morning because he’s an absolute sweetheart…” She seemed to be trying to think of his other talents, before she landed on one, “oh! And he’s really fucking fantastic at sex.”

If the giggling had started amongst their friends before, it had turned into full blown guffawing now.

“I’d say that’s a pretty good review,” chortled Bronn, slapping Jaime on the shoulder.

“So… I… I… would like to defecate this song to my love… Jaime Lancaster. That’s him there!” she beamed, pointing at him, “the hot blond in the red shirt. Jaime! Wave!”

Everyone else at the table (and the whole bar) turned to him.

“Yeah Jaime Lancaster,” laughed Tyrion, “wave!”

Even though he was as red as his shirt, Jaime lifted up his hand to wave at her. His embarrassment subsided somewhat when she totally lit up as he did so, and it made Jaime melt a little. Brienne was always just so damn sincere. In her drunken state of mind, she probably thought this was romantic. It charmed him to see that she was wearing that expression she would often wear after they made love, where she just looked so happy and content that he thought he would burst. But as she lifted the microphone to her lips, a coil of concern entered Jaime’s stomach; she hadn’t finished. When she looked at him like that, there was only ever one thing she said in that moment, and he was overcome by dread that she was going to repeat it public, here and now.

“This one is for you my manly man.”

_Oh god._

“MANLY MAN!” screeched Margaery as she fell off her chair, laughing her head off.

Even the Hound was chuckling. “Well, that just tells us all you are _totally_ secure in your masculinity, Lannister.”

Thankfully, their friends’ laughter was drowned out by the backing track as the sound guy turned it on. It was, of course, Ed Sheeran’s _Thinking Out Loud._ Brienne sang like someone was scraping nails down a blackboard, like there was a cat being slowly strangled to death in the room. Amazingly, she missed nearly every single note, and created a crazy riff halfway through the song that sounded like it was being sung by Mariah Carey’s tone deaf cousin. Brienne forgot the words to the second verse, even though they were right in front of her, and she just started singing “doo doo doo” to cover her tracks. Clearly intending this to be a heartfelt declaration of love, she looked very confused and disappointed at the fact that everyone was laughing, and it was all going tits up.

“Oh, Jaime,” she said a little sadly, cutting across the backing track. “I forgot the words.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. Even though their friends were all in hysterics over the usually prim and proper Brienne Tarth making a public spectacle of herself, he wasn’t going to let her suffer alone. Jaime got to his feet and marched over to the little stage, taking the microphone from her, before slipping his arm round her waist. Jaime was no singer himself, but he was much better than the very drunk Brienne, as at least he could read words off the screen.

_When my hair’s all gone but my memory fades_

_And the crowds don’t remember my name_

_When my hands don’t play the strings the same way_

_I know you will still love me the same._

After a few notes, Brienne stopped bothering to sing, and instead just rested her head on his shoulder and let him sway her along to the music. Margaery got up on her feet and started waving her arms in the air and was soon joined by Sansa and Shae. Eventually, everyone at their table was up, singing along.

When Jaime’s torture finally came to an end, there was rapt applause, accompanied by cheers and bursts of laughter. “Come on wench,” he smiled, “bow.”

Brienne did what he said, and, after he’d given the microphone back to the sound guy, she let him help her down off the stage and back over to the table. Margaery had tears of laughter streaming down her cheeks. “Oh Brienne,” she chuckled, whacking Brienne enthusiastically on the back, sloshing her drink around as she did so, “that was the bestest most funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Sansa’s tears seemed to be ones of genuine happiness. “And the sweetest, loveliest, most romantic thing ever.” The Hound was looking at her.

After thanking her friends, Brienne went to sit back in her chair, but Jaime could tell she was so far gone she’d just instantly fall off, so he redirected her to sit on his lap and then wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her steady. In response, she threw her arms around his neck.

“I love you,” she slurred in his ear.

“I know, birthday girl,” he replied gently. “I love you too.”

* * *

 

“Why are we even watching this?”

“I don’t know,” replied Jaime, squeezing Brienne a little tighter. “There’s just something weirdly compelling about it. And we’ve now spent so much time invested in this that I need to find out who _The World’s Sexiest Cartoon Character_ actually is before I can take you to bed and ravish you.”

“I reckon I could tell you now if you think it would speed up the process,” said Brienne. “I think it’s obvious.”

“It’s not Robin Hood. He was number thirty seven.”

Brienne laughed. “I am sure my love for Disney’s Robin Hood is something totally particular to me.”

“Then who do you think will be number one?”

She fixed him with a look that said _you are a moron._ “It’s going to be Jessica Rabbit. All straight men love Jessica Rabbit.”

Jaime considered her point. “Well, I suppose she does have certain _attributes,_ but what men have you ever met that seriously think she’s sexy?”

“Hyle loves her.”

Jaime felt himself stiffen up at the mention of Hyle. There was something about Brienne’s ex fuck buddy that got his back up. True, he wasn’t Connington, but Jaime thought most of Brienne’s insecurities that still made her hide from him sometimes when they were in bed together were due to Hyle being an insensitive shit.

Brienne continued, “he had this poster of her in his lounge… come to think of it, it was still there a few months ago when I visited him.”

It was as if all Jaime’s internal organs had dropped through the floor. “You visited Hyle? A couple of months ago? When?”

“Yeah,” she said nonchalantly. “It was in that twenty four hour window after you’d sent me back to London to save my life and then I returned on a horse.”

That twenty four hours had been the worst of Jaime’s entire life, even worse than when he had thought Brienne hated him. At least then he had been convinced that being with her was an impossibility; in contrast, during that awful twenty four hours, he had known that Brienne wanted him and he wanted her, and that all their dreams had been cruelly snatched away. Or at least, that was what he had thought.

He removed his arm from around her shoulders. “You went to _Hyle’s._ While I was breaking my fucking heart, you went to _Hyle’s._ ” Jaime had meant for his voice to remain level, but his emotion smashed through.

Brienne snapped her head around, suddenly looking a little concerned. “Well… yeah. I need somewhere to stay and in London and Hyle was willing to put me up.”

Jaime got off the sofa, withdrawing from her. “Put you up?” He thought of all the times she had hurt him – after Margaery’s party, when she left him alone in a cold bed, when she told him he was a liar for just saying he loved her – and every time she had done it so casually, as if she was not aware she held his beating heart in her hands. Now, it turned out that she had run off to Hyle’s while he had been tearing himself apart over her once again.

Beginning to pace up and down, Jaime’s worst fears overtook him. “Did you fuck him?”

Brienne looked horrified. “No, of course not! How can you even suggest that?” Yet, even so, Jaime knew her face well enough to know there was a hidden emotion dancing behind her eyes – guilt. It stabbed him right in the chest and he was immediately overcome by jealousy, possessiveness, and a fury he didn’t know he was capable of.

“But something happened, didn’t it?” Her eyes dropped to the floor, so he pushed further. “Something happened?” When she did not immediately answer, he started to get angry and began to raise his voice. “Did you kiss him? Give him a hand job? Suck his dick? What?”

“Jaime,” she objected, “why are you being so vulgar?”

“What? Is this seriously what you are upset about? That I asked if you sucked some other guy’s dick?” When she looked cross that he’d used that phrase again, he started shouting, “because funnily enough, _sweetheart_ , I’m pissed that you actually did it! That you care so little for my feelings! In that twenty four hours I did not go marching round to Pia’s or Taena’s and ask for a fuck, because I was too busy cutting my heart out over _you_.”

“I did not fuck Hyle,” yelled Brienne, getting to her feet, suddenly deciding to meet him stroke for stroke. “I went around there because I needed a friend and a place to stay, because _I_ was heartbroken over _you…_ ”

“Oh yeah, some friend he was! The guy who treated you like a dirty old cumrag for years!”

Brienne almost roared in frustration. “Just listen for one second, will you? I did _not_ fuck Hyle. I went round to his, told him about _you_ and how much I loved _you_ and how upset I was that I’d been separated from _you._ He then made some stupid dig about us both being free agents at the same time and then kissed me. I kissed him back for the grand total of two seconds because firstly, I was one hundred percent convinced I was never going to see you again and, secondly, I’d lost my fricking mind. During every moment of that kiss, I thought about _you,_ and then pushed him away because I realised I never wanted anyone to kiss me again other than _you._ ” She took a breath, trying to regain her composure. “I didn’t tell you about it because it meant absolutely nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. It didn’t even occur to me it would be an issue because it meant so little.”

Jaime let out a dark and bitter laugh. “Oh, it meant _something,_ Brienne.” The bubble of insecurity he’d always had about her and their relationship suddenly burst. “It’s just entirely indicative of the fact that you’ve always treated my feelings as worth nothing at all, and as something you can just trample over whenever you want.”

Brienne looked very hurt. “That’s not true…”

“Really?” he spat. “Oh, let me think. I’m not the one who after our first time together left you all alone in the middle of the night, and then a few hours later told you to forget all about it and that it meant nothing. And neither am I the one who called you a fucking liar for saying you loved me.”

“Jaime… we’ve talked about this before. I’m sorry about that…”

He was possessed by his fears about her, and they came out all at once in a fountain of bile. “The fact you would even _think_ about going to Hyle’s after what had happened between us just tells me that what I’ve always feared is true; I love you much more than you’ve ever loved me, because you don’t even notice every time you break my heart.”

Brienne’s face went white. “What?” she stammered.

“You heard me,” he said, his voice icy. He couldn’t quite bring himself to say it again.

It was almost as if he was watching her finally putting a picture together that he had been able to see for ages. “That’s not true,” she insisted. Her voice started quietly, but it built with every word. “I love you with everything I am, Jaime, everything I have. I admit I’ve been insensitive and stupid in the past, but that’s not because I don’t love you. It’s because I’ve never been in a relationship before, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. It scares me sometimes, how much I feel for you, and how much you feel for me… and Hyle… is just nothing in comparison to that.” She gave him a small smile and stepped towards him; her hand outstretched. “Jaime, I promise you it’s not worth getting upset about… I love you.”

He wasn’t ready to relinquish his anger just yet. “I’ll decide what I get upset about, _wench_ ,” he spat, saying her nickname with all the derision and condescension he had used the first night they met. In response, she looked as if he had slapped her.

“Jaime, I…”

“Don’t touch me. Don’t come anywhere near me.” He was backing away from her, moving towards the front door of his flat. She made steps to follow him, but once he had slammed the door, she did not give chase.

Jaime was running somewhere, running nowhere, running into oblivion.

 _Fucking HYLE,_ his fury roared, _she kissed HYLE, that unworthy awful bastard who made her hate herself, she went to him… she went to him…_

Jaime only realised he was at Bronn’s house when his friend opened the door.

“Jaime,” said Bronn, a little surprised, “what the fuck’s wrong with you?”

Not giving him an answer, Jaime bundled through the front door, and went into the lounge. Before Bronn could say anything, Jaime snapped, “I don’t want a drink. Brienne says it is bad for me to drink when I’m in a foul mood.”

Bronn only smirked before getting himself a beer. Once he’d returned and settled himself into the armchair, he said, “so, go on then. What’s wrong?”

It poured out of him like a torrent. In the middle of Bronn’s lounge, Jaime found himself shouting about Hyle, Brienne’s self-esteem, _the fact she fucking kissed Hyle,_ the night that Storm’s End exploded, his father and Cersei and the NWA and Brienne riding in like a superhero, saving him. He kept going around in circles, touching on rage and anger and jealousy in turn, in the process losing all track of how long he had been talking for. Surprisingly, Bronn listened patiently.

When the story finally came to an end, Bronn took a swig of beer and said, “the way I see it, you’ve got three choices.”

“Which are?”

“Number One,” he said, sipping his beer. “Let’s go out and get you laid, and tomorrow night we’ll get you laid again, and the night after that and the night after that. You’re going to shag Brienne out of your system.”

Jaime had only ever had a single one night stand in his whole life. That had been Senelle and was on Tyrion’s orders after yet another break up with Taena. It had left Jaime feeling dirty and he hadn’t called her back; it was then he had realised he could only have sex with women he felt an intense emotional connection to, otherwise, it was just moving parts.

“Then in a couple of days’ time,” continued Bronn, “you are going to text Brienne and tell her it’s over, and that you’ve found multiple other girls who will suck your cock with none of the drama.”

The thought of Brienne’s expression if he ever did or said something like that to her made him feel sick. “No, that’s a fucking awful plan. What’s your next option?”

“Number Two,” said Bronn. “We go and get you laid tonight, and tomorrow you go back to Brienne, say you are even and then get on with your life.”

“That’s perhaps even worse than option one,” said Jaime. Brienne was so very fragile, that if he ever did anything like that, Jaime was sure she’d break into a million pieces and all their trust and love along with her. “What’s your last plan?”

Bronn downed his beer. “It’s the simplest and most beautiful of all. You forgive her because you love her and accept that, in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t an issue worth throwing away everything you have together.”

Jaime felt like he had been hit by a freight train. “You are saying I should forgive her?”

“Well,” said Bronn slowly. “What really has happened here? You fake stabbed her. She thought you two were over, and that your life was threatened by a bunch of nutters. Then, she drove back to London because you ordered her to. She must have been scared, sad, and not sure what the fuck was going on. So, what did she do? She had a moment of weakness. She decided to visit a friendly face, who then tried his luck. She had two seconds of madness where she kissed him back, before coming to her senses and telling him to fuck off. She then rode back into town and saved everyone’s arses. To me, in comparison to everything that has come before and after, it seems a kind of small issue.”

Jaime put his head in his hands, instantly knowing Bronn was right. The image of her desperate face during their fight came into his mind’s eye, and he had to bite down a wave of guilt. If he kept this up, it would be all over with Brienne, and Jaime didn’t want that. He loved her, after all. “Well, fuck me, Bronn,” said Jaime, letting a whistle out through his teeth. “Who knew you were such a great agony aunt?”

Bronn chuckled. “I try.” Picking up his empty beer can, Bronn got to his feet. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you with a beer? Or are you going to see Brienne?”

“Sorry mate, although you are great company, I need to go see my wench.”

Bronn nodded. “Right answer.”

Less than a minute later, Jaime was making his way back to his flat. He hoped that she would still be there, that she’d used the intervening hours as an opportunity to cool off and now they could sort it out. However, when he arrived, he found the flat was quiet.

“Brienne?”

He knew she had probably gone home, but he paced through the rooms just to check. Ludicrously, he went to the bathroom first, having a quick scan around. It was then he noticed it; her toothbrush was gone. He looked around, checking it hadn’t fallen down anywhere, but the panic just kept rising in his chest when he realised he couldn’t see it. It was the same feeling that had taken him the night he’d been awoken by Storm’s End exploding and had found she had vanished. He then went out to the living room, to see whether her sunglasses were still on the coffee table, but they were missing too. Her cardigan was also conspicuously absent from the drying rack.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

He picked up his phone for the first time since the argument. He had fifty seven missed calls from her, and two hundred and eighty six messages. Scrolling through them, he could see the early ones were begging for forgiveness, but when he hadn’t answered their tone had changed.

 _Brienne:_ I know you don’t want to see me, so I’ve taken my stuff out of your flat. I’m so sorry, I love you xxxxxxxxxx

 _Brienne:_ I love you so much. Do you want your key back? Xxx

 _Brienne:_ xxxxxxxxx I’m sorry, I love you, Jaime, I love you, I’m sorry xxxxxxxxx

Putting his phone in his pocket, he went into kitchen, wildly hoping she was there. Instead, he found a letter.

_My dearest most darling Jaime,_

_I’m really sorry, from the bottom of my heart. I’ve never been sorrier about anything in the whole of my life. I didn’t anticipate how much this would hurt you, and I’d take it all back if I could. It still surprises me every day how much you love me. Hyle means absolutely nothing to me and you are my everything._

_I’ve taken all my stuff, so it’s easier for you. You’ve still got some things at mine – I can drop them off at yours, or you can come and pick them up, whatever is best for you._

_I don’t want this to be the end, but I can understand why it is._

_Forever yours,_

_Your wench._

Jaime’s heart hammered in his chest. Did she really think their relationship was over because of a stupid argument? About Hyle Hunt? Shoving her letter in his pocket, he was out the front door in a moment near enough sprinting down the street.

 _Wench,_ he thought madly. _Why do you always think so little of my capacity to forgive you?_

When he arrived at hers, he was horrified to find that there was no answer when he rang the bell. Using his key, he ran inside, and it was empty. He knocked on one of her neighbour’s doors and asked if they’d seen her come in or out. When they shook their head, he dashed off, heading straight for Margaery’s.

_Please be there… please… please…_

There was a sinking feeling in his stomach that she had run away; to the Isle of Wight, to London, back to Hyle…

 _No,_ he told himself again and again, _you’re just being jealous. She would never…_

“Margaery,” he said breathlessly when she opened the door. “Do you know where Brienne is?”

She fixed him with a concerned expression. “Yeah. She’s in my lounge with Sansa and Shae. She’s spent the last two hours sitting on the floor, crying, and stuffing her face with Haagen Daas. She’s a bit of a mess.”

Jaime felt a wave of relief wash over him. “Does she want to see me?”

Margaery smiled, “more than anything, I think. Come in.”

The last time he had been to Margaery’s house was for her birthday party, and Margaery led Jaime into the familiar open plan kitchen where Jaime had once asked Brienne to dance, and she had smashed his heart into pieces with her refusal. Now, the shoe was on the other foot. Sure enough, Brienne was sitting on the floor with Sansa and Shae, in a worse state than he had ever seen her.

 _Fuck,_ he thought. _I’ve done this._

“Hey Brienne,” said Margaery. “Someone is here to see you.”

Brienne lifted her head and looked at him with those big blue eyes he adored. Her mouth dropped open in shock. “Jaime,” she said, hurriedly getting to her feet. It was clear she had been crying. “Why are you here?” she asked, sniffling. “I thought…”

“Whatever you thought was wrong,” said Jaime forcefully. “I love you so _fucking_ much, so why the hell did you write me that letter? Why do you think I’d leave you after one stupid argument?”

Sansa turned to Shae and Margaery. “You guys, I think it’s avocet season. We should go bird watching.”

“What? Right now?” asked Shae, clearly invested in watching the drama.

“Yes, right now,” insisted Sansa, grabbing both the other women’s arms. “I think they need some time alone.” Neither Brienne or Jaime said anything more until Sansa had shepherded Margaery and Shae out of the house.

“Why?” asked Jaime again, brandishing the paper in his hand. “What is this letter about? Why did you think you had to write this?” Brienne stepped forward, not taking her eyes off him for a moment. She reached out and took the letter from him and as she did so, their fingers brushed. It was like he had been hit with a bolt of lightning.

Her cheeks went red. “I just wanted you to know… that I understand if it’s over.” The tremor in her voice told him she was close to tears. “I love you so much, Jaime, but I know what I did was wrong, even if it was just for two stupid seconds. I didn’t mean to hurt you… I never want to hurt you. I was just heartbroken, confused and in shock, and I thought I was never going to see you again. As my dad is always AWOL in the countryside, Hyle was the only person I could think of that might take me in for a few days. For every single moment of those two stupid seconds when I kissed him back, I was thinking about _you,_ and how much I missed _you,_ and how much I love _you._ I didn’t go there with the intention of sleeping with him, I just needed a friend, and he was the only sort of friend I had ever had in London. It wasn’t anything sexual… I _couldn’t_ have anything sexual with anyone but you. At the same time, I know it’s no excuse. I left myself open to it, open to falling back into old habits, and I… I’m just so sorry.”

And with that she dissolved into tears and he couldn’t bear to look anymore. Marching over, he pulled her into a tight embrace and let her cry against his shoulder. “Don’t cry, wench.”

“But’s it’s over…” she sniffled.

“No it’s not,” he said consolingly, “I forgive you.”

“You do?” She sounded so surprised he squeezed her tighter.

“Yes. We weren’t together, the kiss lasted two seconds… if anything, I think the thing that hurt the most was that it was _Hyle._ I sometimes feel like you push me away because you are worried that I’m like him, so the thought that you’d go back to someone who made you feel so bad about yourself… It seemed like you were going back on everything you’ve built, that _we’ve_ built.”

She wrapped her hands round his waist. “You are nothing like him and I’ve never been worried that you _are_ like him. All I worry about is the fact that you are far too good for me.”

“Don’t say that, because you know it isn’t true.”

He held her in his arms for a while, before she eventually cried, “I love you so much, Jaime. Please believe me.”

Stroking her hair, he said. “I _do_ believe you. It’s just I’m an insecure mess about this, about us. You’ve pulled away from me so many times…”

“It’s not because I don’t love you,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “It’s because I’m scared…”

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” he said passionately. “We’re together, we’ll always be together. Whatever frightens you, tell me, and I’ll be there with you.” 

And with that she was showering him with kisses and whispered “I love yous”. In response, he claimed her mouth, kissing her with all the emotion that had been anger and fury only a short time before and had now melted into something softer. In a moment he ached for her, longed to throw her down and make love to her, demonstrating to her that he was entirely hers.

Suddenly, he felt her hands on his flies, unzipping them.

“What are you doing?”

Brienne pressed one hand gently on his cheek as she looked into his eyes, “showing you how much I love you.” She got down on her knees.

“But we can’t do it here! We’re at Margaery’s!”

She smiled teasingly. “If I know Margaery, she’ll understand.”

And at that, Brienne gave Jaime the world’s messiest, sloppiest, but most enthusiastic blow job. He closed his eyes and gave into the sensation. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, but Brienne held his wrists tightly in her grip. She’d given him blow jobs before, but they had always been a little tentative; he thought it was probably Hyle Hunt making her feel bad about herself as usual. This time, however, she just let go. Jaime could hardly bear it.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…_

“Brienne,” he moaned. “Stop… please… I’m going to come, and I don’t want to…” Usually they would have moved on to more traditional activities by this point, because he’d always been able to tell that Brienne was not one hundred percent comfortable with giving him oral sex, but this time she wasn’t stopping. She just looked up at him with those big blue eyes, and it pushed him over the edge. Shame washed over him when he realised what he had done.

“I’m sorry,” he said, deeply embarrassed, “I’ll go get you a tissue. I’ll…”

She continued to hold his wrists all as she stood up, preventing him from moving. When she drew level with him, Brienne gazed deeply into his eyes, which silenced him. Then she swallowed. Jaime just stared at her, stars in his eyes.

“Only you,” she said, as she wiped the corners of her mouth.

Jaime couldn’t keep away emotionally anymore, so he pulled her close. This was all so weird. He felt heart-warmed and turned on at the same time. No one had ever done this for him before; he’d never been loved like this. Jaime kissed her and tasted himself on her; it felt a bit strange at first, new, but then he realised it was just gloriously intimate, and the smile on Brienne’s face told him she thought the same.

* * *

 

After the argument, Jaime had come to the conclusion that he never wanted his and Brienne’s toothbrushes to be separated again, so had asked her to move in with him. She had gone one better and said they should get a house together. After a few months, they found a little cottage on the outside of town with a slightly leaky roof, but it had a small garden with room for a barbeque, a really big master bedroom, and it had cat flaps, so they were both sold on it. On the first night they moved in, they marked the occasion by doing something Jaime had wanted to try for a while.

“Jaime, this is weird.”

“Why?”

“I’m literally tying you to our new bed.”

“Yes, wench, so you are. And?”

“I’m not quite sure why you want to do this.”

“Surely you know how this works by now.”

“How what works?”

“Our _sexual dynamic_. We’ve been at it long enough that you _must_ know.”

“Know what?”

“God, you are so oblivious. Do I really have to spell it out?”

“Yes, sorry, you do. I really am lost.”

He sighed. “When we have sex, I am your little bitch. I like it when you hold me down and tell me what to do, and you like bossing me around. These ropes just make it official.”

“Oh.”

“There’s no need to blush, it’s just true,” he said, wriggling slightly to check he was securely fastened. “Now that’s sorted, come here, put that blindfold on me, and let me taste that glorious cunt of yours.”

* * *

 

The first reason for Jaime’s distress was he had never been in a relationship that was serious enough to meet the in-laws before.

“You look terrified,” said Brienne, squeezing his arm.

“I _am_ terrified,” said Jaime as they walked across the field. “I’m about to meet your Dad, and if he’s anything like mine that means he’s fucking scary.”

Brienne laughed. “Don’t worry, my Dad is nothing like yours. He’s a bit of an oddball sure, but he’ll love you.” When Jaime continued to look nervous, Brienne gave him a little peck on the cheek and said, “and if he doesn’t, well, it doesn’t matter because _I_ love you.”

Jaime need not have worried, as when they finally rang the doorbell to Brienne’s childhood home on the Isle of Wight, Selwyn Tarth threw open the door and immediately drew Jaime into an enormous bear hug.

“Jaime!” he roared. “It is so good to meet you at last!”

“You too, sir,” Jaime tried to say, his face pressed into Selwyn’s shoulder. It was immediately very clear that Selwyn Tarth was nothing like Tywin Lannister.

When Selwyn finally let him go, he said, “please, call me Selwyn. And pumpkin!” Selwyn then turned to his daughter, and almost lifted her off her feet when he hugged her. Jaime laughed; Selwyn succeeded in towering over even Brienne and made her look almost little.

“Come in! Come in! I’ve been making brownies!”

When they pulled their suitcase in through the front door, they found the house was full of smoke.

“Oh,” said Selwyn, “it seems I may have left them in a _little_ too long. Brienne, why don’t you take your suitcase into your bedroom and set up?”

Brienne picked up the suitcase that she and Jaime shared and carried into a little room on the second floor. Jaime could instantly tell it was Brienne’s childhood bedroom, and that it had been untouched since the day she moved out. The walls were painted sky blue and were plastered with posters of fantasy TV series and cop shows, and there were childhood toys everywhere. As Brienne went to put their suitcase in a convenient place and begin unpacking, Jaime began to have a look at the photographs in frames balancing on the window ledge.

“Teenaged you was adorable,” said Jaime, picking up a photo of acne-ridden, football-gear wearing Brienne. “Can we ask your dad if we can take these photos? I want to put them in our lounge. I’ll dig out some old ones of me too.”

Brienne scoffed. “I don’t want those photos next to blond, teenaged Adonis Jaime Lannister, thanks very much.” When he gave her a disappointed look, she said, “I might be on the road to loving me now, but I still hate her.”

He went over to her wrapped his arms around her, holding out the photo of Brienne in front of them. “She’s not hateful, because she’s you. And why not put them next to photos of teenaged me? I was a boring twat who only cared about how he was styling his hair. Teenaged Brienne had character. I mean come on, look at you proudly towering over the rest of your team.” That made Brienne laugh, so he continued, “you can’t stop me; I’m going to ask Selwyn if we can take all of them home with us.”

“You are insufferable.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He pecked her on the cheek and then turned to check out the sleeping arrangements.

“So, top or bottom?” asked Brienne, following him. When Jaime raised his eyebrows mischievously at her, she said exasperatedly, “I’m talking about the bunk beds.”

“Well, which one do you want?”

“Bottom,” she said, “there’s slightly more room.”

“Ok, then I’ll join you,” he replied, going to lay down on the bottom bunk.

“There’s not _that_ much room!” she laughed.

He pouted at her. “But you can’t expect me to sleep without my wench, that’s just cruel.”

She rolled her eyes. “I bloody well can if we are going to be wedged in together.”

“What’s wrong with being wedged in together? I like being wedged in with you.”

“You are insufferable.”

“Yes,” he beamed. “You keep reminding me.”

After they had settled the sleeping arrangements (Brienne eventually agreed he could share the bottom bunk with her), they went out to try Selwyn’s very burnt brownies, before Selwyn volunteered to take them for a tour of the town. Jaime spent the rest of the day being shown all the old haunts of Brienne’s young life; her school, the local park, the swimming pool. Keeping the image of the teenaged Brienne from the photo firmly lodged in his mind, he felt he could understand her a little more away from Casterly. It was an aspect of her life that was only now coming into focus for him, and all the way round town he kept hold of her hand to confirm she was the same person.

That night it rained, so after ordering takeout, Jaime, Brienne, and Selwyn sat down to watch some TV. Selwyn stretched out in his favourite armchair with a beer, while Jaime took a spot on the sofa. Brienne immediately came and sat next to him, draping herself all over him in the process.

“Wench,” whispered Jaime, “your Dad is just over there.”

“Yeah, I have eyes,” she smiled, rubbing Jaime’s chest. “But I think he knows we are physically affectionate with each other. We are in a relationship; in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed. I go to sleep every night with you snoring in my ear.”

She blushed, “well, you steal the duvet, so we’re even.”

“Even.”

As they watched the TV, Jaime tried not to fiddle with his prosthetic, but it was getting a little itchy. If he was at home with Brienne, he would have taken it off the second he walked through the door, but he felt a little self-conscious here. Noticing his fussing, Brienne rolled up his sleeve and tried to take it off for him. “No, your Dad…”

“He doesn’t care,” said Brienne, “do you Dad?”

“Mmm?” asked Selwyn, “what don’t I care about?”

“If Jaime takes his hand off.”

“Of course not,” smiled Selwyn. “Everyone has to have a party trick.”

With that, Brienne would take no more of Jaime’s objections and she took the prosthetic off him, before lifting up his stump and giving it a quick kiss. “And don’t you dare roll that sleeve down,” she insisted, before getting up and taking Jaime’s prosthetic back into their bedroom.

He gazed at her as she walked away; her blonde hair brushing her shoulders, her strong hips swaying ever so slightly with every step, freckles peppered across every inch of skin he could see. Even after nine months together, he still hadn’t succeeded in counting them all.

Selwyn was watching him, and Jaime could not quite read his expression, so he said, “your daughter really is the best woman in the world.”

That seemed to surprise Selwyn, but he nodded in agreement, “she is.” Looking over his shoulder to check Brienne had disappeared into the bedroom, Selwyn then said, “I suppose this is the point I have to give you the _if you hurt her, I’ll beat you black and blue_ speech.”

Jaime laughed. “If I do hurt her, I’ll let you.”

* * *

The second reason for Jaime’s distress was that he’d been carrying around the engagement ring for two months, but still hadn’t found the courage to ask her.

 _It’s too quick,_ he would tell himself some days. _We’ve only been together nine months. Remember what happened the last time you went too fast? You almost lost her forever._

“Get over yourself,” said Tyrion one night when they’d gone for drinks at _The Inn_. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

Jaime pretended to think. “Ooh, I don’t know. Maybe she could turn me down and crush my heart and soul forever? She has a habit of doing that.”

“I don’t know why you let that woman get her claws in so deep,” said Bronn, taking a swig of his beer. “My ethos is always to keep them at arm’s length; that way, you can enjoy the sex and never get hurt.”

“Because she’s Brienne.” It was the only answer he really had.

That conversation was going around and around his head while he was at Selwyn’s, and on the third day of their visit he found he couldn’t sleep because of it. His worries were only interrupted by Brienne climbing all over him trying to get out the bunk bed in the morning.

“Where are you going?” he asked. She gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“I can’t sleep, so I want to go for a run. Do you fancy coming with?”

He shook his head. “It’s a bit early for me, my love. You go though, have fun.”

They kissed for a little bit before she got out of bed and went to get changed. He just watched her, sighing at the way the morning light fell on her freckly skin as she took off her pyjamas. “You are so beautiful,” he mumbled, not fully conscious he had said it out loud. When she looked at him, it was full of old anxieties, and he felt slightly bitter for a moment. “I know,” he said. “You don’t have to say it. I’m a fucking liar.”

She looked at him sadly. “Don’t remind me of that, please. I know you are not a liar. I know that’s how you see me, even though I think you must be blind sometimes.”

“I’ve got twenty-twenty vision,” said Jaime gently.

Brienne smiled. “I _know_ I should listen to what you say. Doctor Aemon told me that I have to stop vocalising my negative thoughts too, and I am trying. It’s just these beliefs have been part of me for such a long time, they’re hard to get rid of, you know?” But then she looked at him and smiled, “but nothing is helping me more than you though, so… thanks.”

With that, Jaime got out of bed to cross the room and hold his favourite naked freckly vision in his arms. He gave her a quick kiss. “Glad to help.” He was so in love with this woman that she could have anything she wanted of him until his dying day.

When she went off for her run, Jaime went down to the kitchen to find some breakfast. To his surprise, Selwyn was down there, frying some eggs. “Good morning,” he said, “do you want some?”

“No thanks,” replied Jaime, going to put the kettle on. “Coffee is enough for me.” Noticing Selwyn already had his morning tea beside him, Jaime didn’t ask if he wanted one.

There was a moment of awkward silence as Jaime tried to think of something to say, but then Selwyn spoke. “Are you up to anything exciting today?”

“I’m going to ask Brienne to marry me.” Jaime hadn’t intended saying it – to be honest, he hadn’t really formulated it as a fully thought out plan in his head – but once the words had come tumbling out of his mouth, he knew it was what he wanted to do and today was the day.

Selwyn furrowed his brow in a similar way to Brienne. It was an expression she used when she thought he was being especially stupid. “And you are asking my permission?”

“No,” said Jaime. “I mean… not because I don’t respect your opinion… it’s just… it’s up to Brienne whether she wants me or not. I only need _her_ permission.”

Selwyn nodded, the corner of his eyes crinkling when he smiled. “Quite right. Have you decided how you are going to do it?”

Jaime shook his head. “I know she won’t want a big song and dance, but I want to make it special. I just haven’t quite worked it out yet.”

Selwyn got his phone out and opened up Google Maps. “There’s a lovely little restaurant down along the beach – _Arbor Gold_ – you see it there?” He pointed to it on the map. “Take her there. They have tables outside, and it’s meant to be a full moon tonight, so you can do the whole candlelight dinner thing. Then there’s a beach nearby that she loved to go to as a child, maybe take her for a walk. I’m sure that will be special enough.”

“Thank you,” said Jaime, overwhelmed that Selwyn was being so supportive. He remembered quite clearly what had happened when Tyrion had announced over a Sunday Roast to his own father that he had married his high school girlfriend Tysha. It had involved a bribe and an annulment.

“Look after her, okay?” said Selwyn gently. “Although she pretends she’s tough, inside she has a gentle heart. You are responsible for that, as I think she loves you very much.”

_Brienne…_

“I love her too, and I’ll never hurt her,” said Jaime. “I promise.”

Once Brienne came back from her run, Jaime took Selwyn’s advice and told Brienne about his plan to go to _Arbor Gold_ that evening _._

“But that would leave Dad on his own.”

Miraculously, Selwyn chimed in, “oh, I’m going to visit a friend in town. You two go and have fun.”

Jaime wouldn’t have called that evening  _fun_ , because he found he was wracked with nerves. When they were shown to one of the outside tables at _Arbor Gold,_ Brienne seemed to notice.

“Are you alright, my love? You look a little pale.” She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, checking his temperature. “We can go back to Dad’s if you want.”

“No,” said Jaime, smiling. “I’m fine. Do you want two courses or three?”

Brienne then announced she was feeling very greedy, so they planned for giant chocolate sundaes for dessert, as well as the garlic bread to share to start. “You know, since I’ve started going out with you, I’ve put on half a stone,” tutted Jaime.

“Well, you could have come on that morning run with me, Sergeant Lannister,” she replied. “Cardiovascular exercise is good for you, although perhaps jogging is not the most fun kind.” Brienne smirked in a way she never would have when they first met.

Jaime pretended to be shocked. “Oh my god, has Brienne Tarth finally learnt what innuendo is?”

“Might have,” she laughed. “And if I did, you taught me.”

They spent the rest of the evening bickering, bantering, and parrying; like they were in a sword fight, like they were dancing, like they were having sex. Jaime was sure it was just another way that they expressed their intimacy, their closeness, their love, and it made him very happy.

It made the contrast to their silence as they walked down the beach very stark. The moon was bright, and the only sounds were the waves lapping against the shore. Brienne’s blue eyes shined in the silver light, and Jaime’s heart was hammering furiously against his ribs, almost trying to escape from his chest.

“You are very quiet tonight,” said Brienne. “Are you sure everything is alright?”

“Yes, everything is fine,” replied Jaime, squeezing her arm. “Do you want to go and sit over on that bench? And look at the view?”

“As long as we are not going to have another public fingering debate,” she joked.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t got a blanket on me,” he chuckled. “I’ve been such a bad influence on you, wench.”

“Good influence,” she corrected, with a squeeze.

Once they were sat on the bench, Jaime extended his arm around Brienne, and she put her head on his shoulder, tucking her arm around his waist. Once they had settled into the familiar warmth, Brienne said, “I would never have believed this when I first arrived in Casterly.”

“What?”

“That one day I would be so happy to be snuggled up next to you on a slightly chilly moonlit beach.”

Jaime laughed. “Was it that I called you Brian that put you off?”

“More that I thought you were an insufferable prat.”

He turned to look at her. “I still _am_ an insufferable prat.”

“I know,” she said, kissing him, “but I love you.”

 _It’s now or never,_ he thought.

“Brienne…

“Mmm…”

“Will you stand up for me a moment?”

She looked a little confused, taking her head off his shoulder. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“No,” he said, getting to his feet in order to encourage her. “I just… want you to stand up.”

Although she continued to wear a slightly befuddled expression, she did what he had asked, and even let him take her hand in his. Knowing this was the moment, he took a deep breath, and then began. “Brienne, when I first met you, I was very confused at the fact you were not a fat fifty-year-old called Brian whom I was expecting to be my partner. I’m really glad I got you instead.”

Her eyes were roving over his face – searching, confused, apprehensive – and he knew he had to get to the point. “I’m really glad I got the best police officer in the country as my partner, who cared when swans went missing, or ten thousand onions were stolen, or a cat got stuck up a tree. You were also very diligent about chasing shoplifters, although you were perhaps not one hundred percent sympathetic when one kneed me in the bollocks.”

Brienne let out a little laugh, and he felt his heart lighten.

“But even though I could have suffered real testicular injury, I’m still glad you became my partner, because otherwise we would have never met, and I would have never realised what a wonderful person you are, and we would have never had a chance to fall in love. And you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, without a doubt. Never in my wildest dreams would I have believed that there would be a woman out there who would be willing to ride into town on a white horse armed to the teeth in order to save me. So for that reason…”

He dropped to his knee and pulled out the box from his pocket, balancing it on his prosthetic. “Brienne, will you…?”

“Yes!” she shrieked, getting down on the floor in front of him, “of course I will!”

“But I haven’t even asked you yet!”

“I know, but I still will you crazy…” she kissed him, “insufferable…” she kissed him again, “lovely man.” Jaime nearly dropped the box under the weight and strength of her kisses, and he felt herself laughing against her lips.

“What are you laughing about?” she asked.

“Your enthusiasm, wench, I nearly dropped your ring.”

She looked down at it, opening the box so she could admire the glittering sapphire. “Oh, Jaime…” she said in delight, “will you put it on my finger?”

“You’ll have to help me,” said Jaime, “I’m a poor cripple you know.” In response, Brienne took the ring out and placed it in his hand, and then stretched out her own so he could slide it up the appropriate finger. “We can get married whenever you want,” he smiled. “If you want a long engagement, I’ll wait. If you want to elope to Gretna Green tomorrow, we can do that. I just know I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

All the stars shone in her smile. “And I want to spend the rest of mine with you.” She pulled him in for another kiss, her hands cupping his cheeks, his hand on her waist. When it ended, she ran her thumbs along his cheekbones. “One thing I _do_ know, though, is where I want to marry you.”

“Where?”

“Casterly,” said Brienne breathlessly. “I want to marry you at home.”

And then Jaime lost all track of time, because Brienne wouldn’t stop kissing him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked that! It's been fun to be back in Jaime's head after a long time away, so I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Once again, please leave comments and kudos!
> 
> The next (and final) chapter... Jaime and Brienne prepare to get married and it doesn't *quite* go to plan...


	31. Ring those Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne prepare to get married, and it doesn't all go quite to plan...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've delayed and delayed and delayed putting this chapter because it is the last one and I'm sad! Please leave comments and kudos and let me know how you feel about this chapter (was it a good send off?) and what you thought of my silly story more generally. It will make me soooo happy!
> 
> For more info about what is coming next, please read the end notes.

“Now I have you all here, I would like your attention while I run through a short PowerPoint presentation on the Lannisport Tractor Fair that we will be patrolling next week,” said Brienne, as she dimmed the lights in her office.

“A PowerPoint?” moaned Robb Stark, “can’t you just tell us where we are all going to stand and we’ll work it out from there?”

“No,” insisted Brienne. “This is a massive event. There will be over four hundred tractors on show, Princess Michael of Kent will be there to cut the ribbon, and I have planned this all meticulously with Lannisport’s Chief Inspector. I want to prove to them that just because Casterly is a smaller jurisdiction, it is by no means less drilled or less prepared.”

After getting back from her Dad’s the previous night, Brienne had been up late on her laptop, putting the final touches to her PowerPoint, much to the consternation of Jaime, who seemed to think that the only things that should be occurring in their bed were sex, cuddling, and sleeping.

“Come on, wench,” he had said, snuggling up beside her, “the PowerPoint does not need animation or clip art. Our colleagues can work out what they are meant to be doing from the slides as they already are.”

“But if I animate it, I can clearly outline the patrol routes for everyone.”

Jaime leaned close. “But if you _don’t_ animate it, you and your brand new fiancé will have time to have a quick shag before we go to sleep.”

In the end, she hadn’t animated it, and it now made it difficult to tell exactly where the patrol routes were. She made a mental note to blame Jaime bloody Lannister and his powers of sexual persuasion.

“So, as it is Pod’s first day as a PC, I thought we would use the opportunity to clearly lay out how the Casterly Constabulary operates at largescale events like this. Pod, if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Pod was sitting in the central chair of the little row of seats Brienne had set out in her office for the meeting, surrounded by his new colleagues. “Yes sir… my lady…”

“Chief is fine, Pod,” she smiled. “Now, the event is being held at Lannis House, a sizeable stately home just on the outskirts of Lannisport. It has really big gardens and, due to the size, we’ve agreed with Lannisport Police to share patrol duties, allowing some officers to stay at their respective stations to deal with everyday tasks.” She flicked to the next slide to show out the layout of the grounds.

“Very nice,” said Margaery, admiring the layout of the house and gardens. “Do they have an attached safari park?”

Brienne snorted. “Luckily for us, no.” Clearing her throat, she then said, “I have decided that on the day, Detectives Stark, Arryn, and Constable Snow will stay at the police station to make sure any normal duties are carried out.”

“Can we go then?” asked Robb Stark, a little techy. “I’ve got a doughnut back in my desk that I quite fancy.”

“No,” insisted Brienne. “You can stay here and watch my presentation. I stayed up very late finishing it.” Jaime gave her a knowing look at that. She flicked to the next slide, which added highlighted routes to the map. “As you can see from the key, each of you are colour coded. Sandor, I want you to take Joff and provide a patrol of the perimeter, got it?”

“Yes Chief,” the Hound nodded.

“Pod, as you are new to this, I have decided to partner you with Sergeant Lannister for the Tractor Fair…”

“Oooh,” smirked Robb Arryn, “watch out Pod, Lannister’s known for getting very handsy with his partners.”

Pod looked vaguely terrified at that, while Jaime gave Robb a condescending look. “I don’t get handsy with my partners. I’m handsy with _one_ of my previous partners because she likes it and, no offence Pod, your arse isn’t quite as nice as our Chief Inspector’s.”

“Jaime!” snapped Brienne, “please! We are trying to discuss the Lannisport Tractor Fair here.”

“Sorry wench,” he replied. “I’m just defending my record by pointing out that you have a very nice arse. It’s a compliment.”

Jaime smiled at her in such a way that she found herself compelled to say, “you have a very nice arse too, my love, but can we please get back to tractors…”

Jaime’s grin grew larger. “I’m glad we are in agreement! Maybe we can have a little grope in your office during our break…”

“FOCUS!” shouted all their colleagues in unison.

“Sorry,” said Brienne blushing, turning back to her PowerPoint. Jaime just looked very pleased with himself. “So, Jaime and Pod, I want the two of you to be patrolling the eastern border of the property. There won’t be many stalls, events, or tractors over that side, but there is a large ornamental lake. Given how many children will be at this event, I think it is important we have people with eyes on this area.”

Jaime raised his hand. “Question.”

“What, Jaime?” she asked, a little exasperatedly.

“Why are Pod and I by the lake? I’d much rather be in the thick of it. I want to see some tractors and shit.”

She knew he was just being purposefully annoying, but even so, she deigned him with a response. “If there’s one thing we all know about you, my love, is that you are some sort of magical swan whisperer, and as there are lots of swans on the lake, it would be a good place for you to patrol, as swans can break people’s arms.” Jaime looked satisfied by that answer, but that Brienne continued, “also, I’ve looked up the weather conditions on that day, and it seems it will be very sunny. I think with the light reflecting off the lake, your hair will look very gold and shiny, and it will bring out the colour of your eyes, so you will cut quite an impressive figure walking along that route that _some_ people might appreciate.”

Jaime’s smile turned predatorial, “are you planning on enjoying the view, Chief? Because if you are, I’ll make sure I’m nice and clean shaven, just the way you like me…”

“FOCUS!” came the collective chorus once again. Trying to ignore them, Brienne turned back to her PowerPoint, attempting not to look at Jaime’s smug grin.

“Does this happen every day?” asked Pod to everyone other than Jaime and Brienne.

The Hound spoke for the team when he said, “Every. Single. Day.”

“Everybody, please can we get back to the Tractor Fair,” asked Brienne, getting a little waspish. Turning to the last two police officers without instructions, Brienne raised her hands, “now, Margaery and Ilyn, I think it’s probably best if…”

“SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!”

Brienne sighed. “Excuse me Constable Tyrell, can I help you? Do you have a question about the Tractor Fair?”

Margaery was looking at Brienne with an expression of wide-eyed shock, and she raised her hand, pointing at her accusingly. “No Brienne, funnily enough, I don’t give a crap about the Lannisport Tractor Fair at this precise moment.”

Brienne was a little hurt; she’d put a lot of effort into her PowerPoint. “Why not? That is the point of the entire meeting.”

“BECAUSE I’VE JUST SPOTTED YOU HAVE AN ALMIGHTY ROCK ON YOUR FINGER!”

Brienne looked down at her engagement ring, which was glittering in the light from the overhead projector. “Can this wait? I really would like…”

“NO THIS CANNOT WAIT!” shouted Margaery, “WILL YOU CONFIRM OR DENY THAT THE RING YOU ARE WEARING IS AN ENGAGEMENT RING?”

Brienne turned to Jaime, who had got to his feet. In a moment they were walking towards each other, and Jaime slipped his arm around Brienne’s waist. “Okay,” said Brienne, “I really wanted to wait until break time to tell you, but… yes. Jaime and I got engaged when we visited my Dad over the weekend.”

There was a cheer and a clap from the rest of their colleagues, as Margaery started screaming.

“YEEEEESSSSS!”

“I’m so happy for you!” said Jon.

“About fucking time!” said the Hound.

There was such a hubbub that Brienne had to take the initiative to calm everyone down. “Ok, thank you everyone. We didn’t intend to announce it quite like this…”

“No,” agreed Jaime. “We wanted to do it in a _quieter_ way rather than a public announcement backed by a PowerPoint.” There was a little snigger at that from the rest of the team. Jaime looked confused. “What?”

“Well,” snarked Robb Stark, taking up the mantle of spokesman. “Since when have you two ever been _quiet_ about your relationship? We all still have nightmares about the time you started shouting about how much you loved eating out your girlfriend all around the station.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes at Robb, suddenly getting a little aggressive. “Firstly, that was a private conversation and you were listening at the door. Secondly, I love eating my _fiancée_ out, get it correct.”

Robb Stark got to his feet, “Thanks for the clarification I didn’t need and, FYI, I was not listening. You were being loud.”

“You so were listening,” replied Jaime, puffing himself up.

“I think we are all traumatising Pod,” said Jon, trying to calm the situation. “He doesn’t need this on his first day.”

Then it all descended into chaos. Robb and Jaime started having a full out row on whether the team had been eavesdropping on the cunnilingus conversation, with Robb Arryn joining in for tactical support. Pod looked genuinely scared, as Jon tried to console him. Joff starting barking. Margaery ran over to Brienne and demanded a closer look at her engagement ring. The Hound started telling everyone to fuck off because they were upsetting Joff. Ilyn looked like he was having some sort of existential crisis in the corner.

“RIGHT!” yelled Brienne. “SIT DOWN ALL OF YOU! I HAVE NEVER SEEN SUCH DISGRACEFUL BEHAVIOUR FROM OFFICERS OF THE LAW IN ALL MY LIFE.”

That finally got the team to shut up, and everyone went and sat back down in their chairs, including Jaime, who had the good grace to look a little guilty.

“So,” Brienne said lightly, regaining her former composure. “While we can talk about our exciting news at break time….” Margaery seemed to be about to say something, but Brienne shot her a warning look, “for now, the Lannisport Tractor Fair…”

* * *

 

“…Concerns have been raised about the levels of security at Dartmoor prison after the escape of a high profile, high security inmate. Prisons minister Barristan Selmy…”

“Oh,” moaned Shae, “will someone turn that off? We’re dress shopping! We need to be listening to ABBA, not bloody local news.”

Sansa obliged her, switching the channels on the little radio that Missandei the dressmaker had given them to easy listening. Just as she did so, Brienne came out of the changing room. The wedding dress she was trying on had the world’s most enormous skirt and a huge train to match.

“Nope,” she said, “it’s too much. Jaime said he wouldn’t marry me if I turn up at the church wearing a blancmange of a dress.”

Margaery snorted. “Who does he think he’s kidding? That man would marry you if you turned up wearing a bin bag and an eyepatch.”

“That’s not sounding like a terrible plan right now,” said Brienne sadly. It was only three weeks until the wedding and she had still not found a dress. It was not that she thought she looked ugly in them all – therapy, along with eighteen months of Jaime’s utter delight in her body and incessant reminders that she was beautiful had started to put pay to that idea – it was just she hadn’t found the right one. And she wanted to look lovely for Jaime, she didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Why don’t you try this strapless one?” Missandei asked, pulling out a lovely light airy dress. “I think the silhouette will really suit you.”

“Oh yes,” said Arya. “I agree.”

There was something almost Grecian about the dress Missandei held out for her, which Brienne knew was a style that suited her. Going back into the changing room, she removed the blancmange and put the new dress on. Missandei was right; it seemed the skirt did suit Brienne’s long legs. There was, however, one tiny problem.

Coming out of the changing room, Brienne loudly announced, “I like it, but I haven’t got enough tit to keep it up.” The use of the word tit in the singular was entirely a Jaime habit, so she kicked herself for using it.

“I’ve got an idea,” said Sansa. She went digging around in her bag and found a pack of tissues and started stuffing them down Brienne’s chest. Arya joined in, bringing in a box of _Kleenex Kingsize_ from the reception to fill them out properly. Once they were done, Brienne just stared at herself in the mirror.

“There,” said Sansa, half way between comforting and doubtful. “Perfect.”

Brienne laughed. “I think Jaime will notice if I’ve suddenly grown a pair of double D’s made entirely out of tissue.”

Sansa grinned. “I suppose you are right… and knowing Jaime he’d probably loudly proclaim he likes what you’ve got anyway slap bang in the middle of the service.”

Brienne blushed, knowing that Sansa was correct. “So, is there a dress in this shop that I haven’t tried on?”

“Yes,” said Missandei reassuringly. “Plenty. Actually, I think there is one from our medieval section that might suit.”

Brienne tried not to look sceptical as Missandei went off into the back room to go searching for this mythical dress. While they were waiting, Shae cracked open a bottle of champagne and poured everyone a glass. “So, if we don’t find anything in this shop, what’s the plan? We are running out of options. Do you have anything in your arsenal at home?”

Brienne snorted. “At home? Of course I don’t have anything that could pass for a wedding dress at home!”

“Yes you do!” said Sansa excitedly, “what about that lovely blue dress you bought for Stannis’ drinks reception?”

“But… it’s blue!”

Arya shrugged. “Something borrowed, something blue… you could pull it off.”

Margaery, Sansa, Shae, and Arya all seemed firmly in agreement at that, but Brienne shook her head. “No, I can’t wear that one.”

“Why not?” asked Sansa. “It’s really pretty.”

“Yeah,” Brienne conceded, “but on your wedding day you are meant to look all pure and lovely and virginal…”

Margaery snorted again, “Brienne, the whole of Casterly knows you and Jaime have been at it like rabbits since you got together. There is no need to look _pure and lovely and_ _virginal_.”

As Brienne went tomato red, Sansa nudged Margaery, telling her she was not being helpful without words. Turning to Brienne, Sansa said, “what is not pure and lovely and virginal about that dress anyway? I think it looks ethereal.”

Brienne went bright red as her friends looked at her. “Well… it was what I was wearing when… um…”

“When what?” pressed Margaery.

Brienne steeled herself. “It was what I was wearing the first time Jaime and I shagged. I doubt it’s appropriate for a wedding.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. “Oh yeah, don’t wear that,” said Sansa.

At that moment, Missandei came back into the room with the dress from the medieval section. It was a beautiful off-white dress with a Celtic pattern embroidery around the neckline. It sat off the shoulder and had a long loose skirt that Brienne sensed would suit her frame. Feeling excited, she disappeared back into the changing room to try it on. When she emerged two minutes later, she was greeted by a silence from all her friends. At first, it was encouraging, but then the nerves kicked in.

“Well?” she asked tentatively.

“Gorgeous!” cried Sansa, “it’s the one.”

Turning to face the mirror, she knew she looked like some ancient princess warrior who had come to save her prince. All that was missing was a sword.

 _Jaime will love it,_ Brienne thought, as she turned to Missandei and gave her a huge grin.

* * *

 

Margaery and Tyrion had planned it so that the stag and hen dos were on the same night. That way, they could get a deal on the stretched limos.

“Why are both parties going to Lannisport?” asked Jaime, “surely we’ll just bump into each other?”

“Because you two are cheapskates and said you didn’t want us to spend a fortune,” snapped Margaery. “I wanted to go to Vegas.”

Tyrion turned to Margaery to give her an accusatory look, before looking back at Jaime and Brienne. “Don’t worry, we’ve organised it so the boys are over one side of town in one hotel, and the girls in another on the other side.”

It was with that knowledge that Brienne found herself being bundled into the limo with Margaery, Sansa, Shae, and Arya on the way to Lannisport. Arya had just turned eighteen a few days previously, otherwise Brienne would have vetoed her attendance. To celebrate, Margaery had some canned gin and tonics to pass round, which everyone started drinking readily.

“So,” Margaery smiled, “we’ve got you an obligatory learner sign, a set of fairy wings, and a tiara.” She took them out of a bag she had brought with her and gave them to Brienne, before starting to distribute highly inappropriate fancy dress to the rest of the group. She then also got out some penis shaped straws to put in the drinks.

“Margaery!” gasped Brienne. “This is too much!”

She rolled her eyes. “We are on your hen do, Brienne! Penis shaped straws are a requirement!”

It took Margaery a few more minutes to convince Brienne to stick one in her drink, but once she had done, she smirked, “is it more impressive than Jaime’s?”

Sansa looked horrified, “it is much too early in the evening for that kind of discussion! We’ve only had one drink!”

“It’s bigger than Gendry’s,” mused Arya, sipping her drink carefully through the straw. Sansa turned to her younger sister, staring at her as if she had just announced that she had recently murdered a litter of puppies.

Brienne went bright red. “Jaime has a very nice dick thank you very much… more than satisfactory.”

“I’m going to put that on the group chat,” giggled Margaery. “The Get Jaime and Brienne Married Group Chat is starved for information… well at least since that time Robb Arryn caught you giving Jaime a blow job in your office.” Going even redder, Brienne knocked her phone out of her friend’s hands very quickly.

“No!” Brienne hissed, “you can’t tell him I said that! His ego is already big enough as it is! He’ll permanently be telling me he’s some sort of sex god. He already jokes that I only promoted him because he’s dynamite in the sack.”

“Well, didn’t you?” teased Margaery.

Brienne went maroon. “No! It was more to do with the way he helped me against a murderous cult actually… although that’s not to say he isn’t good in the sack… he’s very good… fucking awesome actually… oh god, please don’t tell him I said that.” It was only when her rambling went on and on did Brienne realise there was no music, because the driver was listening to some podcast about prison reforms. Leaning forward in an effort to distract Margaery, Brienne asked if they could have the radio on.

“This is very important news!” insisted the driver, “especially with that nutter who has escaped.”

“We don’t care about nutters tonight!” insisted Margaery. “Give us some something cheesy to listen to!” The driver fixed Margaery with a mean look and, because of her rudeness, they had to endure Aqua’s _Barbie Girl_ on loop for the whole journey to Lannisport.

Once they arrived at _The Pier Hotel_ , they got the keys for their rooms, dumped their bags inside and then got ready to go out. Margaery had booked a table at a swanky Italian restaurant on the edge of town, and the five women spent several hours just eating, drinking, and laughing. They drank more than they ate, so once they were finished, Brienne could see all her friends were on the wrong side of tipsy.

“The itinerary says we’ve next got to go to a club called _Castle Black_ ,” said Shae, looking at the plan that Margaery had sent round earlier in the day.

“Yes!” sang Margaery, “we’ve got a VIP booth… and there might be some surprises in store.”

Brienne hoped the surprises ended with the huge vodka luge which dominated most of the booth. Margaery and Arya were on it immediately, and before long they had persuaded the other three to get involved too. Brienne had a couple of sips but, in truth, she didn’t really like vodka, so she stuck to her gin and tonics. After an hour of vodka and stupid dances, the other four women had well and truly boarded the train at Tipsyville and had just arrived at Drunk City Central.

“Do you think I should go out with Robb?” Margaery was asking the vodka luge, until Sansa turned her round so she was looking at Shae. “I mean, he’s an arrogant tosser, but there’s something about him…”

“Jaime is arrogant sometimes,” said Brienne gently, “but we still work.”

“Yeah, but Jaime _adores_ you,” replied Margaery, “it was bloody obvious from day one, whereas I’m not sure Robb is the adoring type.”

Sansa had just begun soliloquising on the joys of romantic love and trust when a man burst into the booth. Brienne narrowed her eyes – she recognised him from somewhere but couldn’t immediately place him.

“Ladies,” he smiled, peering around at them all. “I regret to inform you all that there’s a fire.”

Brienne suddenly noticed he was dressed as a fireman and got to her feet. This was a proper emergency. “A fire?” said Brienne, taking control. “Well, someone must set off the alarm! There are several fire doors all around the club, and if we act quickly, we can organise a co-ordinated exit and make sure everybody is congregated at the designated fire safety point.”

The man looked a little confused for a second, before recovering himself. “There’s a fire… IN MY PANTS!” At that moment, _I’m Too Sexy_ started blaring out across the speakers in the booth and the man took off his helmet, revealing a mane of red hair to match his ginger beard. The other women were instantly up on their feet clapping their hands, while Brienne shot Margaery a horrified look. 

"You got me a stripper?” she shouted, “I told you no strippers!”

Margaery just laughed. “What is a hen do without a bit of objectification?”

Margaery, Sansa, Shae, and Arya were dancing along as the stripper started to take off his jacket along to the lyrics _I’m too sexy for my shirt_. Brienne could only stare at him, horror mounting. It was when he wiggled his eyebrows at her did Brienne finally put together where she knew him from.

“Wait!” she stammered. “Isn’t your name Tormund? Don’t you work as a keeper at Longleat?”

As he took off his vest top, Tormund confirmed it. “That’s my day job! I do this to tide myself over!”

Brienne rolled her eyes. Margaery hadn’t even ordered a fully competent stripper – they had a part timer. To be honest, Brienne thought she’d got more out of the time Jaime thought it would be hilarious to attempt to give her a striptease and had only succeeded in tripping over while trying to take his jeans off. As Tormund shimmied towards her, Brienne knew she had to make her exit.

“Excuse me,” she declared dryly. “I need a piss.”

As quick as a flash, she had backed out of the booth and run into the ladies toilets, taking advantage of their relative emptiness to go and hide in a cubicle. She had just sat down on the toilet when her phone rang. Pulling it out of her pocket, she felt a wave of comfort, and answered it instantly.

“Hey, Jaime,” she said quietly.

“Hi wench,” he whispered back. “Are you having a good time?”

“Yeh…” she said, “but while we are here, I should tell you that Margaery ordered a stripper. I told her not to, I told her I didn’t want one, but you know what she’s like.”

He let out a dark chuckle. “Tyrion ordered me one too. He said it was my last night out as a free man and I should take advantage of it, but I’m currently hiding in a broom cupboard so I don’t have to face her. She’s dressed as a sexy police woman; it feels wrong on so many levels because I only need one of them in my life.”

Brienne smiled. “Well, mine’s dressed as a fireman, so not far off.” She decided not to tell him that her stripper was the man who had once propositioned her at Longleat. “I’m hiding too. I’ve locked myself in the ladies; Margaery will probably come find me soon. She’s been off her nut all night.”

Jaime sounded amused at that. “When has Margaery ever been on her nut? She’s always been low level insane.”

At that point, she heard some rustling at the other end of the line and the sound of a door opening. It was followed by Tyrion speaking. “What the hell are you doing in here? Who are you talking to?”

Jaime sounded a little sheepish when he said, “Brienne.”

“For fuck sake, Jaime,” Brienne heard Tyrion say, “you are on your _stag do_. You are meant to be ogling our stripper’s tits, not hiding in a cupboard phoning your fiancée.”

“Can I have two more minutes?” Jaime pleaded. “Then I’ll be out, I promise.”

“ _One_ minute,” Brienne heard Tyrion declare. “And make it quick. Robb Arryn and the Hound are arguing about Sansa again, so we need a good distraction.” With that, Brienne heard a door close and she knew that Jaime was alone in the broom cupboard once again.

“Did you hear all that?” Jaime asked.

“Yes,” said Brienne. “I know we’ve got a minute.”

“What are we going to do with our minute?” replied Jaime.

Brienne thought for a moment, before saying, “I think it is probably easiest if we give each other permission.”

“Permission to do what?”

“To go and enjoy the strippers. We’ll never hear the end of it otherwise,” said Brienne. “All our friends already think we are disgustingly in love.”

“Well, we _are_ disgustingly in love.”

Even after all this time, it warmed her heart to hear him say things like that. “Yeah, I know. But I give you permission to go and ogle some other woman’s tits, just this once, so you don’t get laughed at.”

“Okay,” said Jaime, a little reluctantly. “But I just wanted you to know, your tits are still the best, my love.”

“You haven’t seen hers yet!”

“I don’t need to, yours are the best.”

At that, the sound of Pod and Tyrion dragging Jaime from the cupboard brought the conversation to an end and she only got one strangled “I love you” from him before he was cut off. Laughing to herself, she decided to go back to the booth and endure Tormund the part time stripper’s dance for the sake of Margaery, who had put so much effort into organising this. Once she was back with the other hens, it became easier to enjoy it as all her friends were laughing and having a good time. Tormund did another two songs before taking his bow and departing, and then Margaery ordered in a fish bowl and a big tray of shots.

“To Brienne and Jaime!” cheered Shae, trying to down some unidentifiable shot.

“To Brienne and Jaime!” everyone else chorused.

The rest of the night was equally crazy. Margaery was nearly led off by a guy calling himself the Blue Bard, until Arya stepped in and threatened to cut off his nuts if he continued to be creepy. At one in the morning, they left the club and just took a walk down the beach, where Shae announced she couldn’t remember all the words to _Any Dream Will Do_. It resulted in a re-enactment of the entirety of _Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat_ , with Sansa eventually admitting that it was Donny Osmund in his sparkly coat that first convinced her she was straight.

They eventually made it back to the hotel at 3:30am. Brienne was tipsy, but nowhere near the state all her friends were in. Although Margaery tried to persuade everyone that they should try and break into the hotel’s penthouse suite because she had heard there was a hot tub, only Arya was convinced by this idea. Brienne was too tired to protest, so left them trying to get on the roof via the window in Margaery’s room, while Sansa and Shae had managed to get a bottle of rum from somewhere, so were happy sitting in the corridor, singing and taking sips. Knowing it was time for her to retire, Brienne successfully snuck away back to her room.

Getting herself a glass of water, she had a quick drink before having a shower and changing into her nightdress. Her bed was calling her. As she laid down to sleep, she tried to get comfortable, but her bed was very cold. She could still hear Sansa and Shae outside, singing some made up Korean in what Brienne assumed to be a drunken version of _Gangnam Style_. Brienne was just nodding off to the sound of them wailing, when there was a furious knock at the door.

“What now?” bellowed Brienne, as she swung the door open. Her mouth nearly opened in shock when she saw who it was.

“Hello wench,” he slurred, somehow managing to trip over even though he was standing still.

“Jaime!” Her arms were round his neck in a moment. “What the hell are you doing here? Why aren’t you at your hotel?”

Jaime shrugged, finding it difficult to stand up on his own without leaning against her. “We all got so… drunk. And then we got lost. The Hound and Robb Arryn had a fight because Arryn told him Sansa was too good for him. We lost them back in the club… Tyrion decided that tonight was the night to start writing the novel he feels he has always had in him – he wrote it on thirty three napkins and read them all aloud to our stripper. She thinks it’s a masterpiece… Pod wasn’t so sure… hic… Robb Stark, Bronn, and I made it to the last bar, but after they had shots Robb Stark started crying about how he’s adores this girl and she doesn’t notice he exists, and then Bronn started crying too saying that his sarcasm is all a cover for an incredible loneliness he feels at the centre of his soul… I left them hugging in the foyer…”

“Right,” said Brienne slowly, “and what about you?”

“Well… I just realised I wanted to be in bed with my wench… so I came and found you.”

Even though he was drunk and had wonky bunny ears on his head, Brienne couldn’t refuse him. “Come on then, my love,” she said, “let’s go to bed.” Putting his arm round her shoulder, she led him into the hotel room, kicking the door closed with one foot. Once he was over by the bed, she pushed him so she fell backwards onto the duvet, before proceeding to lift his legs up and take the ears off his head.

Jaime was laughing to himself, “I told you the first time we met that you liked manhandling me…”

“I’m going to do more than manhandle you,” she smiled. She began to take his clothes off, starting with his shoes and socks; he couldn’t sleep in his smart-casual suit. Once she was pulling his jeans down, he laughed even harder.

“That tickles.”

“Shhh,” she whispered, taking off his jacket and shirt, “it’s time to go to sleep. I’ll get you some water, so you don’t have such a bad hangover tomorrow.” Going into the bathroom to fill a glass, she left him lying on the bed in just his boxers.

“Wench!” he called, “I’m cold.” He was so drunk it seemed he was incapable of putting a blanket over himself.

“Alright Jaime, I’ll be there in a minute.” Returning with the glass, she made him drink half of it before he laid back down again. She could tell he was going to be fidgeting all night if she left him to his own devices, so she positioned herself half on top of him so he couldn’t wiggle around too much. Drunk Jaime took this gesture the totally wrong way and tried to squeeze her tit at an awkward angle. She pushed him off.

“No sexy times for you, I’m afraid,” she said, hugging him. “You are as drunk as a skunk, and I’m tired.”

“Okay, wench,” he murmured into her hair. “No sexy times. Got it.”

She did not got to sleep herself until she could hear him snoring, which did not, admittedly, take long. It was not a particularly restful night, however, as she was woken at 5am by him running to the bathroom to throw his guts up. Brienne did not complain, but just refilled his glass with water and sat in the bathroom with him, stroking his back. “Never let me drink again,” he moaned as he sat on the bathroom floor, his head in her lap. She just perched on the edge of the bath and ran her fingers through his hair, trying to comfort him.

“Okay, my love, I’ll hold you to that one.”

The morning after the night before, it took several hours to round everyone up. Bronn and Robb Stark were found on sofas in the lobby of the girls’ hotel, while Shae and Sansa had fallen asleep, entwined, on the double bed in Shae’s room. Margaery and Arya were found soaking wet on the floor of the penthouse balcony, having gone for a dip in the hot tub. Tyrion and Pod had managed to make it back to the boys’ hotel with only twenty four napkins, Tyrion’s dreams of a bestseller lost forever. The Hound and Robb Arryn had spent the night walking around town, deep in philosophical conversation after their fight, and they were eventually located at a local Burger King. In their various stages of drunkenness, the two groups had merged, and all loaded into the limos haphazardly for the journey back to Casterly. Brienne was sat with her arms around a very hungover Jaime, stroking his hair as he leant his head on her shoulder.

“Can you please turn that news report off?” groaned Margaery to the driver, “I do not want to hear about escaped convicts when my head feels like it is going to explode!”

* * *

 

If the hen do was a bit of a disaster, the wedding rehearsal, which was scheduled for the day after, didn’t go exactly as Brienne had planned either.

“Right, please can I have both of your full names so we can make sure everything is correct for the paperwork and the service?” asked Reverend Meribald, the new vicar of St Alysanne’s who would be marrying them.

“Mine’s Jaime Tywin Lannister,” said Jaime, the evocation of his criminal father making the air a little cooler.

Reverend Meribald wrote it down. “And yours?”

Brienne tried not to blush. Most of the time she pretended she didn’t have a middle name. She hadn’t even told Jaime what it was. “Mine is Brienne _mumble_ Tarth.”

“Pardon?” asked the vicar.

“Brienne _mumble_ Tarth.”

Reverend Meribald looked at her kindly, “I am sorry, Ms Tarth, but I will need you to speak a little bit louder. We need to make sure it is all correct on the forms.” Jaime gave her a little nudge of encouragement, but Brienne couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud. Luckily, earlier in the day she had written it down, just for this moment. Taking it out of her pocket, she handed it to Reverend Meribald, who gazed at it through his huge glasses. Jaime just looked at Brienne quizzically, while the Reverend chuckled to himself.

“You don’t have to say it out loud…” suggested Brienne forlornly, but the Reverend just gave her an amused smile.

“I’m sorry, embarrassing middle names are a vital part of the marriage service I’m afraid.” With that, he cleared his throat. “So, I will begin by welcoming the congregation to the church, to the wedding, and by pointing out the emergency exits.”

“Okay,” said Brienne, just as Reverend Meribald began to explain how he would start the ceremony.

“I will commence with, _dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of Jaime Tywin Lannister and Brienne Boudicca Tarth._ ”

It all happened instantaneously. In the space of two seconds, Jaime’s eyes went wide, his mouth dropped open, and the next moment he was almost on the floor, laughing his head off.

“Jaime…” she said warningly, but there was no stopping him.

“Seriously?” he spluttered. “ _Boudicca_? As in leader of the rebellion against the Romans Boudicca?”

“Jaime, get up, we are here to rehearse getting married,” snapped Brienne.

“But… I… can’t!” he guffawed. “I… assumed… your… middle… name… was… Louise… or… something… not… _Boudicca_.”

“I’m sorry Reverend Meribald,” said Brienne stiffly, “I thought I was marrying an adult, not a two year old.”

“But wench!” he laughed. “Boudicca. _Boudicca_. Your middle name is Boudicca! Why on earth is your middle name Boudicca?”

She sighed, trying to be the adult in the room. “My mother always had a thing for ancient warrior women. It was either going to be Boudicca, or Amanirenas, or Candace, or Thomyris… or Gorgo.”

“Gorgo!” he spluttered, clutching his sides. Brienne tried to suppress the urge to punch him.

Reverend Meribald looked confusedly between Jaime and Brienne and back again. “Had you never told Mr Lannister your middle name, Ms Tarth?”

With Jaime still laughing his head off, Brienne said, “no, because I knew this was the reaction I would get.”

It took a couple more minutes for Jaime to recover himself enough to get back to his feet, and only then could Reverend Meribald continue to explain how exactly the service would run. Even then, Jaime was biting his lip in an attempt to suppress his laughter. Brienne fixed him with the look of a thousand angry fire goddesses to keep him silent. It was only when Reverend Meribald went to find the organist that Brienne had the chance to talk to him.

“If you laugh on the actual day, I swear I will leave you at the altar.”

He beamed at her, “alright, Boudicca, calm down.”

“Shut up.”

He kept shooting her amused looks as Reverend Meribald walked them through their vows, told them where the hymns were placed in the service, and when the congregation would stand up and sit down. However, they only managed to discuss the issue properly when they pretended to process down the aisle as man and wife. Jaime leant over to whisper in Brienne’s ear.

“Actually, I think it’s highly appropriate.”

“What?”

“That your middle name is Boudicca. It’s utterly perfect that you are named after an ancient Celtic warrior queen who burned down London in order to kick those nasty Romans in the arse. _Utterly. Perfect._ ”

“So, you promise you won’t laugh?”

He snorted, “god no, I can’t promise that. It’s still the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m just saying if there’s anyone in the universe whose middle name should be Boudicca, it’s you.”

* * *

 

The night before the wedding, Brienne got into Margaery’s Mini Cooper to be taken over to her house. It had been decided that, because there was more room at Margaery’s, the bride would get ready at hers, while the groom and his friends would prepare at Jaime and Brienne’s.

“See you tomorrow,” said Jaime quietly as they prepared to say goodbye.

“Yes.” It was all that she could really think of saying. A moment of silence lingered between them, and she wondered why. Maybe it was because the next time they saw each other, they would be at the altar. Brienne had just planned on giving him a quick peck, but after the quiet had lasted a beat too long, he had snaked his arms around her waist in such a way that she was pulled flush against him, and in a moment they were kissing deeply.

After a few minutes, she felt Sansa’s hand on her shoulder. “Come on Brienne, it’s time to go.”

Breaking away from Jaime, she grasped his hand one last time and he just smiled at her. Once she was in the car, she blew him kisses until the car had disappeared around the corner and she could not see him anymore.

“Have I told you that you two are utterly sickening?” said Margaery. “Lovely, but sickening.”

Brienne laughed. “I know. Jaime can’t get over how gross we are sometimes.”

“Good,” smiled Margaery, “I’m glad you are conscious of it.”

When they eventually pulled up outside Margaery’s house, Brienne found Shae and Arya waiting for her.

“We’ve got the manicurist in, so you can have a mani-pedi, and then the masseuse will be here in an hour to help you relax,” said Shae. “After that, it’s champagne, champagne, champagne!”

“What about my Dad?” asked Brienne.

“I’ve spoken to him,” said Sansa reassuringly. “He’s staying at _The White Stag_ , but will pop round later this evening, and then will be here first thing in the morning.”

Brienne breathed a sigh of relief; she was so glad her friends had this under control. Consequently, she let them lead her into the house and spent the rest of the evening being thoroughly pampered. Margaery decided to liven things up later by trying to find something exciting on the TV, but it was just news reports about escaped convicts, so she gave up and put her phone on shuffle. Brienne tried to relax as she had her manicure and her massage, but there was something that was making her feel uneasy that she could not shake off. She thought about calling Jaime – maybe just the sound of his voice would make her feel better – but she knew he had gone down to _The Inn_ with the boys and didn’t want to disturb him. She spent the rest of the evening trying to ignore the feeling, even as she ordered take out with her bridesmaids and her Dad, and Margaery announced what time the make-up artist would be here in the morning and made meticulous notes about the plan of action for the next day.

The feeling was still there at eleven o’clock, when Selwyn announced it was probably time for him to get back to his hotel, and they should all get to bed. Margaery showed Brienne up to Loras’ old room. She could tell it was almost untouched since his death as there was still a poster for _Romeo and Juliet_ on the wall. As she put on her pyjamas and shuffled beneath the duvet, she could tell she was going to have a very difficult time in getting to sleep. It was not just that she was in Loras’ room or the uneasy feeling; she felt very cold, and she suddenly realised it was because she was not used to sleeping alone anymore. She missed Jaime and, even though it was late, she suddenly felt the urge to speak to him. Getting her phone from her handbag, she was dialling his number in an instant.

“Hello, wench,” came Jaime’s voice. Almost immediately, Brienne felt much calmer.

“My love,” she said affectionately, “what are you doing?”

“I’m just in bed,” he yawned.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No,” he reassured her. “I’m just having a bit of trouble sleeping, that’s all. You know, this is the first night we haven’t shared a bed since we got together.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I miss you. I can’t sleep either.”

There was a slight pause before he asked her, “what do you miss about me?” His voice was unbearably tender.

His absence suddenly felt very keen next to her and, wanting him to know how very much she missed him, it all came tumbling out. “I miss how warm you are when I snuggle up against you, and that little snuffling sound you make when I rub up against you. I like falling asleep my arms around you, it makes me feel safe. I miss the feel of you breathing and the sound of your heart beating. It’s just so soothing.” Now she had started, she couldn’t stop. “I miss how hard and strong your body feels when we’re next to each other, it’s just so different from mine. I miss how you smell… I can’t quite explain it, but it’s just so _you_. I know we’ve only been apart one night, but, god, it’s so cold in this bed without you.”

There was another slight pause, before Jaime said, “Brienne?”

“Mmmm?”

“What are you wearing?”

“My _Scooby Doo_ pyjamas.”

She heard a little sigh on the other end of the line before Jaime spoke again. “No, I asked you what you are _wearing_.”

“Yes, and I told you. My _Scooby Doo_ pyjamas. What are you wearing?”

He let out a deep, manly chuckle before saying, “well, I’m just lying here in our bed, missing my wench… and I’m totally naked... thinking about you.”

“Oh.”

“Yep,” he purred, in that all too familiar tone. “So, I was just wondering what you were wearing, so I could picture it better.”

Brienne suddenly felt vaguely terrified; Jaime always did most of the dirty talk because he was just better at it. “Oooh, err… I’m wearing… um…”

“Come on wench,” Jaime said encouragingly. “Think of something really sexy.”

She paused for a moment before saying, “nipple tassels”.

That was obviously not what Jaime had been expecting, and he clearly thought the idea was totally absurd, so he just burst out laughing. “You could have told me you were butt naked and then made a few sex noises and I would have come in my pants, but instead you went for _nipple tassels_.”

“Don’t you have a go at me,” she said grumpily, “I’m terrible at this! And you’ve got to admit that nipple tassels are a step up from _Scooby Doo_ pyjamas.”

She could almost hear Jaime shrugging. “I don’t know, I could have worked with that. You could have told me a nice little story about how you were slowly and sensually taking off your _Scooby Doo_ pyjamas, and how you were touching yourself thinking about me. Nipple tassels on the other hand are just fucking ridiculous.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” she laughed. “We’re getting married tomorrow and you’re trying to get me to sex talk you.”

“You can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said, and she could hear his amusement in his voice. However, once the laughter died down, the silence returned once more. A bubble of fear rose in her stomach – was he getting cold feet?

Even though she feared his answer, she said, “Jaime, are you alright?”

“Of course,” he said gently, “It’s just…”

“Yes?” His voice was a little quiet.

“You don’t regret this, do you?”

“What?”

“Agreeing to marry me.” There was such a tone of doubt in his voice that she felt she had to push back.

“Why on earth would you say that?”

“Well…” he said slowly, “you didn’t like me at first, and it took me such a long time to win you over… I sometimes worry that… no, it’s stupid.”

“Tell me.” He sighed and she could tell he was drawing deep when he next spoke. “I sometimes worry that although you love me, you don’t really like me. Like… you still find me to be that annoying idiot you first met.”

“Never,” she said, impassioned. “Yes, I admit, I found you annoying at first, as I am sure you would acknowledge that you thought I was ugly the first night you met me…”

“I…”

“I don’t hold it against you, my love, because opinions change. And you must know that I think you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Before you, I had accepted the fact that I would be perfectly alone for the rest of my life. Some days it hurt, but most of the time I just knew that love wasn’t for me, that I wasn’t made to be loved…”

“Brienne…” Jaime said, his tone shocked.

“Let me finish, Jaime,” she said gently. “But now I am loved, now I love you in a way I wasn’t even aware was possible, I could never go back to that, I’d never want to go back to that, now I know what this is like. If I had to go back to that, it would break me entirely. You are my world, my everything, and we are going to get married tomorrow and do everything we planned because I love you, and I like you, and love you even more.”

That seemed to console him, “I love and like you too.”

Suddenly she wanted to wrap him up in her arms and never let him go. “Oh, I wish you were here. I want to hold you.”

“Well, let’s spoon,” said Jaime, and Brienne could hear his smile.

“But you are over the other side of the village!”

“I know,” he said gently, “but we can pretend.” There was a pause and she could hear him moving around. “I’m lying on my right side,” said Jaime. “Copy me.”

“Ok,” mused Brienne, getting into position. “I’m doing the same. I’ve shuffled up behind you, so my front is now pressed against your back.”

“And you’ve lifted up your leg and hooked it over mine,” added Jaime, “so you are all around me.”

“Yes,” sighed Brienne, letting the fantasy overtake her. “And I’ve wrapped by arms around you. I’ve tucked one under your arm so I can put my hand on your chest, and I’ve put the other one under your neck.”

“I’ve put my hand on top of yours and entwined your fingers with mine.” It was almost as if it was really happening, hearing him explain it all to her.

“I’ve kissed the back of your neck, before putting my chin on your shoulder, resting my cheek against yours.”

Jaime sighed as if he were totally soothed. “And I’m making whatever that little snuffling noise is that you love so much.”

Brienne let out a little laugh, “I would try and replicate it for you, but I’d never do it justice.”

With that, they just floated into a shared silence that lacked awkwardness or coolness. It just was. She could hear that his breathing had got slower, more restful, on the other end of the line. He was moments from sleep, so she said, “Goodnight Jaime.”

“Goodnight Brienne.” She hung up on him but, knowing that he was in their bed imagining her arms around him, she felt herself relax and was asleep within two minutes.

* * *

 

“Are you ready pumpkin?” said Selwyn, stretching his hand out to her. They were sat in the back of the Mercedes which had just arrived at St Alysanne’s. Her dad was wearing a morning suit and a warm smile. Brienne could not really believe all this was happening to her. They got out of the car and made the way to the church.

The ushers were there to open the doors, and soon she was faced with pews crammed with friends, colleagues, and loved ones from both sides. Tommen smiled up at her as she glided through the door, fulfilling his role as usher admirably. It was Brienne’s turn to offer a nod of encouragement when she reached Myrcella, who was acting as flower girl. Brienne’s four bridesmaids – Margaery, Sansa, Shae, and Arya – were all instantly on hand to help her with her veil and the train of her dress.

“Oh babe,” whispered Margaery. “You look absolutely beautiful, truly.”

Brienne could almost feel herself melting with happiness. She never felt this was possible, never thought this would really happen. The feeling was compounded as she began her journey hand in hand with her Dad. As she walked up the aisle, almost floating, she was suddenly overcome by such a feeling of contentment and happiness that she thought this must be a dream. Would she wake up in her dingy flat in London to find that Jaime and Casterly were all an impossibly happy fantasy that her lonely heart had conjured out of the tiny piece of hope she kept locked in her miserable heart?

All such illusions were shattered when he turned his head. It was tradition that the groom should not turn around and look at the bride while he was waiting at the altar, but Jaime was never one for tradition, so cheekily looked over his shoulder. The grin that spread across his face showed her he was the most real thing in her life, and her heart hammered at the sight of him. When she finally drew level with him and dropped her Dad’s hand, Jaime stared at her. It was similar to the expression he had worn so long ago at Margaery’s party, when he had told her she was beautiful in her blue maxi dress. All the slightest remnants that he had been joking with her washed away in a moment. 

"You look beautiful, wench,” he mouthed, as she thought she was close to dying of sheer happiness.

When the music stopped, Revered Meribald opened his arms to the crowd and began the service. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of Jaime Tywin Lannister and Brienne Boudicca Tarth.”

As expected, a titter erupted across the entire congregation. Brienne even heard Arya let out a little snort behind her. Yet to her surprise, Jaime did not laugh, but kept the warm look in his eyes that he had worn from the moment he first saw her walking up the aisle.

“Thank you,” she muttered, and he just smiled.

“You are welcome, my warrior queen,” he murmured back.

Brienne found she could not stop looking at Jaime through the first hymn, nor when the best man, Tyrion, got up and gave a reading from _Captain Corelli’s Mandolin_ , nor when Reverend Meribald gave a speech about the purpose and joys of marriage.

 _I can’t believe it,_ Brienne thought wildly, _I am getting married to Jaime Lannister. Who would have thought it?_

The only edge of doubt came when it was time for the vicar to ask if anyone objected to the wedding; not expecting anyone to, Brienne just continued drowning in Jaime’s eyes. Reverend Meribald cleared his throat. “If anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

“ _I_ OBJECT!”

There was a little gasp from the congregation, but Brienne assumed it was just one of their friends dicking about, so turned her head to laugh. The sight at the end of the aisle knocked all humour out of her, however, as she suddenly realised she should have paid more attention to all those very important reports about the breakout at Dartmoor prison.

Cersei Lannister stood by the door of the church, a huge shotgun in her hands. At first glance, Brienne would not have recognised her. Gone were the beautiful clothes, replaced by an ill-fitting orange jumpsuit common to prisoners. She had cut her hair too; the long blonde tresses replaced by a short pixie cut that looked weirdly orange in certain lights.

“Cersei!” gawped Brienne, shocked.

As a newcomer to the village, Reverend Meribald looked a little confused. “Excuse me, but do you have any legal objections to the marriage? In contrast to popular opinion, this bit is not for disgruntled ex-lovers to make their views known, but for complainants with serious legal objections to the wedding to come forward.”

“She’s not an ex-lover,” said Jaime angrily, “she’s my crazy twin sister who doesn’t know when to let things go.”

“Letting go?” laughed Cersei derisively. “There is no letting go, brother. I can’t let you marry her! We came into this world together – you holding onto my foot – don’t you remember?”

“Funnily enough, I don’t remember being born, Cersei, no,” replied Jaime. Brienne tried to suppress a little snort at that. Her laughter finally made Cersei turn her cold green eyes to her.

“What are you laughing at, you great ugly cow?” spat Cersei. Her eyes were back on Jaime in a moment. “She has ruined Casterly, taken it away from our family, the rightful owners, and yet you want to marry her? That great beast?”

Once, Cersei’s insults would have cut Brienne to the bone, but now it just bounced off her. Cersei was being desperate and pathetic after all. “Oh, go away,” shouted Brienne. “You lost Casterly. You don’t own Jaime. Get over it. You are just revealing yourself to be petty, vindictive, and jealous. If you have any self-respect, you would just get out of here. Jaime and I are trying to get married, if you don’t mind.”

At being spoken to by Brienne in that way, Cersei bristled and lifted her gun. Brienne suddenly wished she had been a little more circumspect with her choice of words. “You know what you are?” spat Cersei, “a bloody busy-body!”

And then, without a second thought, Cersei shot her gun straight at Brienne.

Brienne closed her eyes, waiting for the pain that would come with the impact of the bullet. She waited and waited, vaguely wondering whether being shot would hurt more than being stabbed, but surprisingly it never came. Eventually, she opened her eyes.

At the end of the aisle, Pod and the Hound had been successful in wrestling the gun from Cersei’s grasping hands. Ilyn had appeared with a set of handcuffs, while Robb and Robb were preparing to arrest her. Even so, there was still an electrified grin on Cersei’s face, and she was laughing. What did she have to laugh about?

Then Brienne felt it; Jaime was no longer holding her hand. Looking down at the floor, she quickly realised why.

“Jaime!” It was very clear what had happened. In the moment between Cersei shooting the gun and impact, Jaime had made a small sideways step, placing himself in between Brienne and the bullet. He was now looking down at his chest in a mixture of confusion and horror as his waistcoat rapidly became soaked with dark red blood. Panicked, Brienne got down beside him, pulling open his waistcoat and shirt with terrified fingers, trying to locate where the bullet had hit him.

“Wench,” coughed Jaime, as she ran her hands over him, finding the bullet hole in the expanse of skin halfway between his right pec and his shoulder. When they were in bed together, that was just where Brienne liked to rest her head. Pressing her fingers down on the wound, trying desperately to stem the blood, she suddenly noticed he was looking fairly pale, and terror gripped at her.

“Dad… Margaery… Tyrion… _someone_ … help him!”

“Alright,” said Selwyn authoritatively, getting his phone out. “I’ll phone 999.”

Brienne suddenly felt Margaery’s hand on her shoulder before her best friend knelt down the other side of Jaime. Shucking off her pink jacket that all the bridesmaids were wearing, Margaery pressed it into Jaime’s wound, allowing Brienne to scoop him into her arms. It was only when Brienne placed one hand to his cheek, leaving a bloody handprint in her wake, did she realise how much blood there was.

“Jaime, why did you do that? Why?” she sobbed, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Because I love you,” he said gently.

“But I’ve told you before,” she snivelled, “I don’t want you taking bullets for me. I don’t want you to get hurt for me. Cersei wanted to shoot me; you should have just let her.”

Jaime shook his head as hard as he could, wincing as he did so. “Never. It’s so much more important to have you in the world than me.”

“No,” cried Brienne, her tears overtaking her. “I told you last night, I can’t go back to my life before you, Jaime. I can’t. I love you, I love you so much! And now… you’ve been shot… and it looks so bad. And I can’t live without you! There is so much blood… I don’t know how they are going to fix this… oh _god_ , there’s so much blood…” Her tears just kept falling like rain.

To her surprise, at that comment, he moved slightly and almost rolled his eyes. “Well, thanks for your optimism, wench. Normally people say things like _everything is going to be fine_ , not _oh my god your wound looks fatal_ to a person who has just been shot.” Even as he was lying in her arms, covered in blood, he was still a sarcastic bastard.

“Jaime, I don’t mean it like that… I just don’t want you to die!”

“I don’t want to die, either,” he said sincerely, before his voice softened. “But if I do die, at least I get to die how I always wanted; in the arms of the woman I love.”

Brienne fixed him with a furious glare. “Don’t you be so bloody selfish! Do you not realise how psychologically traumatic that would be for me? If you… you…” When he saw she was genuinely upset, he lifted his good hand to her cheek to wipe away the tears.

“Hey,” he said tenderly, “I’m not going to die.”

“How do you know?” Brienne sobbed. “There’s blood _everywhere_.”

He sat up slightly, forcing her to look him in the eye. “I’m not going to die because we’re going to do everything we agreed we are going to do. We’re going to get married today in this church. We’re going to live together in that cottage we can’t really afford but we’ll try to anyway. We’re going to have babies together, and they’re all going to be super badass police officers like their mother, and then we’re going to grow old and grey together with our family around us. I’m not going to miss all that for the sake of a stupid bullet in my shoulder, or because that’s what my sister wants.” Jaime fixed her with one of his familiar grins, trying to make her feel better. “And I’m at least ninety five percent sure it _is_ just my shoulder.”

“Are you a doctor?” she sniffed, crying even harder, rocking him in her arms.

“No,” he admitted, “but I do know where my shoulder is.”

When she continued to cry, Jaime shook his head. “This won’t do, wench. I’m not having you blubbing on our wedding day. Help me get up.”

“No!” she said, “we have to wait for the ambulance… we have to…”

Jaime shook his head. “Alright, if you are not going to help me…” He looked across at Margaery, who was still pressing her jacket into his wound, and then to Selwyn, who had finished his call to the paramedics. “Selwyn, could you possibly help me? I intend to marry your daughter and I can’t really do that whilst lying on the floor.” Selwyn nodded in agreement and in a moment he had, with the help of Margaery, managed to remove Jaime from Brienne’s arms and lifted him into a standing position. Once he was on his feet, Brienne followed, tears still in her eyes.

“We can’t have the wedding now,” Brienne whined.

“Why not?” winced Jaime, as Brienne took over the task of pressing Margaery’s jacket into Jaime’s chest.

“Because you’ve got a bullet in your shoulder!”

“And?”

“And my dress is covered in blood.”

“So what?” he said gently, “red is your colour.”

“I thought you always said you liked me in blue.”

“All colours are your colour, wench,” he said, before turning shakily to the vicar. “Reverend Meribald, if you wouldn’t mind, would you please marry us? And don’t rush anything. I don’t want our plans to change because of my stupid sister.”

The vicar nodded furiously, before ushering Tyrion towards him. “Let’s go to the vows. Do you have the rings?”

Tyrion began digging wildly around in his pocket, and during the moment of distraction, Jaime began trying to kiss the tears from Brienne’s cheeks.

“I’ve found them!” said Tyrion gleefully, passing them to Reverend Meribald, who immediately went about balancing them on his Bible.

“Right,” said Reverend Meribald, turning to Jaime. “Let’s start with you. Repeat after me…”

Brienne did not hear Reverend Meribald’s words, just Jaime’s. As both of Brienne’s hands were pressed against his chest, trying to stem the blood, he had placed his hand on top of hers to say his vows. Despite the blood, the fact his shirt was still open, his chest exposed, and the general air of panic in the room, Jaime spoke to her in the same tender and loving way he did when they laid in bed together. “I, Jaime Tywin Lannister, take you, Brienne Boudicca Tarth to be my wife. To have and to hold from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow.”

When it came time to put the ring on her finger, Brienne shook her head. “No, I need to keep pressure on your wound.”

Jaime smiled at her gently. “This is more important.”

Reluctantly, Brienne let Jaime prize one of her hands from his chest to slip the gold band onto her finger. The second he was done, she was back applying pressure. At that, Reverend Meribald looked at Brienne. “Now it’s your turn. Repeat after me. I, Brienne Boudicca Tarth…”

“I, Brienne Boudicca Tarth…”

Just as she said her name, the paramedics finally burst through the door of the church. Samwell Tarly led the way, followed by a woman pushing a stretcher up the aisle. Both looked very determined to get the job done. “We hear somebody has been shot!” announced Samwell, as the entire congregation and Reverend Meribald pointed at Jaime. In a moment, the female paramedic had pushed the stretcher up to the altar and erected it in such a way that it would have been easy for Jaime to climb on. Brienne put her hand on his arm and began to direct him towards it.

“No!” said Jaime, his voice tense. “Five minutes, please. We haven’t finished our vows.”

“Get on the damn stretcher, Jaime,” Brienne ordered him.

“But our wedding…”

“But nothing,” she said authoritatively. “You’ve been shot. If you love me, get on the stretcher. I won’t see you in danger for a moment longer.”

At her ferocious look, Jaime complied and got onto the stretcher. As he did so, Samwell introduced the other paramedic Taelisa to Brienne, as she tried to put an oxygen mask on Jaime. “Not bloody likely!” he insisted. “I need to be able to speak!” Brienne looked at him, a slightly irritated expression on her face, before Taelisa began wheeling him away.

“No!” said Jaime, once Taelisa had pushed him a few steps away from the altar. “Brienne! I need Brienne!”

She was with him in a moment, reaching out for him, grasping his hand. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

“Do you want to get in the ambulance with him?” asked Samwell. “We have room for two people.”

“Me, definitely,” said Brienne firmly. “And maybe Dad… or Tyrion…”

“No,” insisted Jaime. “I want Reverend Meribald.”

Brienne felt tears come to her eyes. “I thought you said you weren’t going to die!”

Jaime rolled his eyes. “It’s not for last rites, wench, it’s so we can finish our vows.”

“Oh,” she said. Even though Brienne was terrified for him, she still felt herself heart warmed at the fact that Jaime was so set on marrying her. As she nodded in agreement with Jaime’s request, she turned to the vicar. “Reverend Meribald, are you alright with that?”

The vicar looked at them wide-eyed for a moment, before nodding. “Yes, but I will just have to get the register from the sacristy. I will meet you out at the ambulance.”

With the vicar’s compliance confirmed, Jaime finally let Taelisa wheel him down the aisle, Brienne following in his wake. Suddenly, she remembered that the eyes of the congregation were still upon them. “Friends,” she announced suddenly. “Why don’t you all go to the Arlington Rooms for the reception? There’s an open bar, and there will be a buffet as well. I will come back and tell you all what is happening when I know more. Margaery, Dad, Tyrion – do you mind managing that?” The three of them agreed instantly, meaning Brienne was able to be with Jaime right the way up the aisle until they were in the car park. Once there, she saw Pod, Ilyn, Jon, the Hound, Robb, and Robb loading Cersei into a car, ready to take her to the station.

“How is he?” asked the Hound gruffly.

“Alive,” answered Brienne, her voice a little shaky. “We think it’s just his shoulder.”

Brienne was surprised to see the dramatic extent of the relief that washed over the Hound’s face. Soon enough, Cersei was safely locked in the car, allowing the rest of the team to turn and ask questions.

“Not now,” said Brienne gently, “we’ve got to go to the hospital. Once Cersei’s in a cell, make your way to the Arlington Rooms. We are still having the reception and, if all goes well, maybe I’ll see you there later.”

“Alright Chief,” said Robb Stark, fixing her with a serious expression. “Look after him, yeah? We are a team. The lone wolf dies while the pack survives and all that.”

Brienne felt tears threatening once again, so she just said, “you are a poet, Robb,” before getting into the ambulance behind Sam, Taelisa, and Jaime. There was a small seat beside Jaime’s stretcher which Brienne took, so she was close enough to hold his hand. They did not have to wait long before they were joined by Reverend Meribald, carrying the huge church register. Just as the ambulance driver kicked the vehicle into action, the vicar put the register on a small space at the side next to the syringes.

“You will need two witnesses,” he said, looking around at the small group.

Jaime took the initiative instantly. “Sam? Taelisa? Are you up for it?”

The two paramedics looked at each other before Sam agreed. “Of course.”

Nodding, Reverend Meribald turned to Brienne. “I believe we were about to commence your vows, Ms Tarth?”

“Yes,” she smiled, looking at Jaime. As Sam and Taelisa began to fuss around him, Brienne got off the seat and knelt next to the stretcher, so she was able to get as close to him as possible. Even though he was covered in blood, she began to run her fingers through his hair, trying to be comforting. She thought it quite amazing that he succeeded in looking so happy, even though he had a bullet in his shoulder.

“I, Brienne Boudicca Tarth…”

Brienne thought of herself on the night she arrived in Casterly; angry, frustrated, heartbroken, determined to go back to London and reclaim her old life. She had never anticipated it would lead to this, her kneeling next to the love of her life while he bled out on their wedding day.

“… take you, Jaime Tywin Lannister to be my husband…”

She remembered his first words to her – _wha? Shouldn’t you be called Brian?_ – so full of mockery and arrogance. It amazed her how he had softened as he came to know her, became friends with her, fell for her, as they realised they fit so perfectly together that it was almost as if they were one.

“… to have and to hold from this day forward…”

As she looked into his eyes and made her vows, she could feel him squeezing her hand. Brienne knew he would never let her go if she allowed him.

“… for better, for worse…”

She knew both sides of him; both his unlimited arrogance, his drinking, his caustic barbs, and his ability to love with no restraint, his need to love that went beyond all understanding. And he knew both sides of her; her rigidity, her unyielding force of will, her obliviousness, her immense capacity to do the right thing and ask for nothing in return.

“… for richer, for poorer…”

Brienne Tarth had never been rich, and although Jaime was born to wealth, she was quite sure that after the Battle of Casterly incident he was now well and truly disinherited. Even so, she didn’t care, and set about stroking his cheek, determined they would live happily in their leaky little cottage struggling to pay the bills.

“… in sickness and in health…”

The night she first realised there was something more than friendship between them, he had been looking after her as she behaved like a drunken idiot. After his stag do, she had sat in hotel bathroom with him, stroking his back, as he vomited his guts up. Only moments ago she had cradled him in her arms, watching him bleed out after taking a bullet for her.

“… to love and to cherish…”

There was no question that they loved and cherished each other, and that would never change.

“… till death do us part…”

“Not today,” said Jaime gently, as Brienne said those words. Suppressing a tear, she just stroked his cheek.

“…according to God’s holy law. In the presence of God I make this vow.”

Not even when joining the Police Service had Brienne felt she was making such a serious oath, and she would keep it until she died. _I am yours and you are mine,_ she thought, as she slipped the matching ring onto his finger. It was now sealed with gold.

Reverend Meribald smiled, as if there was nothing he liked better in the world than bringing couples who loved each other together. “Brienne and Jaime, through your words today, you have joined together in holy wedlock. Because you have exchanged vows before God and these witnesses,” he gestured to Sam and Taelisa, “you have pledged commitment each to the other, and have declared the same by joining hands…”

“Hand,” corrected Jaime, sniggering.

“… and by exchanging rings, I now pronounce that you are husband and wife. Those whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder. You may now kiss the bride!”

Jaime’s lips were on hers in a moment and, even though she could taste the sharp tang of his blood, she did not draw away. She needed to seal the deal with a gesture of physical intimacy; this was about more than keeping an oath with words, but with their bodies. As they kissed, Reverend Meribald passed the register to Sam and Taelisa in turn, pointing at the spots where they needed to sign. Then, he gave the register to Jaime and Brienne, showing them where to write their names. Given his condition, Jaime found it very difficult to write, so Brienne held his shaky left wrist steady, helping him.

After everything was signed and sealed, Jaime turned to the vicar, wincing as he moved. “Reverend, is our marriage legal? We did start the wedding in the church.”

Reverend Meribald was about to speak, but before he could, Brienne caught Jaime’s face in both her hands, turning him to face her. “I don’t care if it was legal or illegal or whatever,” she said. “It was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen in my life, even more so than Ryan Gosling and those sodding swans. You took a fucking bullet for me, Jaime. You are my husband, because I _say_ you are my husband. We’ve made those oaths, whether the British Government decide to recognise them or not.” Leaning down, she drew him in for a deep kiss, trying to be as gentle as possible so as not to hurt him.

When they broke apart, he gave her a teasing look. “Who are you and what have you done with my Brienne?”

She blushed, “oh shut up. It’s only today I’m letting you off rules and regulations.”

Jaime smiled, his voice suddenly mischievous. “You want me to shut up, do you? Well, you’ll have to make me.”

“Easy,” she said, forgetting her earlier qualms and kissing him with all the force she could muster.

Funnily enough, since she didn’t stop kissing him, Jaime was silent for the rest of the journey to the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it :(
> 
> Or is it? I have a tentative plan for a sequel to this (well, a series of scenes that I might turn into a full on fic!), which I hope I will get together soon...
> 
> In the next couple of days, I should also have with you the first chapter of my next fic. Once again, it is a modern AU based on yet another Simon Pegg film (what is it with me and Simon Pegg films, I don't know), although this time, Simon Pegg will be Jaime! I might be getting a bit ahead of myself, but I am kind of intending to do 3 Simon Pegg films, to make my own trilogy! Let me know what you think.
> 
> Once again, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated, and thank you to everyone who stuck with me throughout this incredibly silly story!


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